


The O.Z.

by Doctor_WTF



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parody, We're Not In Kansas Anymore, Wizard of Oz References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/pseuds/Doctor_WTF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tornado - really a tornado! - strikes her London flat, Molly Hooper finds herself transported to a surreal land located over the rainbow that she feels she already knows. Didn't she see a film like this once? Faced with a Wicked Warlock of the West will Molly have the brains, heart, and courage to get home? And why does that Tin Man look so familiar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sepia Tones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyCorvidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/gifts).



> AN - Yeah.... It's been awhile....

Molly Hooper took a deep breath and closed her eyes, counting back from twenty.

_– Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen –_

Really it was just like Sherlock to burst in just as her shift was ending. Her overnight shift, twelve hours long, where all she’d been able to think about was sleep for the last three hours of it. He’d just burst right in, John and Greg on his heels, and demanded a corpse and coffee without a thought to how he was cutting in to her personal time.

_– fifteen, fourteen –_

The personal time she’d allotted to sleeping. The personal time she’d been very much looking forward to. That personal time.

_– ten, nine, eight –_

And now he was just staring at her, that insincere smile pasted all over his face as he waited for her to leap to attention. To rush over to the lockers and get him his corpse before hurrying to fetch him his coffee. She could already see what would happen next. Instead of being content he’d ask for something else, for her to prepare some slide or run some test, and instead of going home with her shift rightly over she’d be stuck in the lab for hours. Hours that she would not be paid for and hours that could be better spent in her bed, sound asleep and snoring with her cat on her legs.

_– five, four –_

She tried to remind herself to be kinder. That Sherlock was under just as much stress as she considering the case of the Moriarty transmission had yet to be solved. That the body chilling in its locker could be the key to the whole matter. If Sherlock kept her longer, if he continued to use and abuse her as if he was one of the lab microscopes instead of her own person with her own needs, that just spoke to the pressure he was under.

Sherlock could see, well, _everything_ but he probably just didn’t notice the bags under her eyes. He probably wasn’t deducing her long sleepless nights clutching a cricket bat and jumping at every creek her ancient building made, the fear that had her jumping at shadows. She’d helped Sherlock fake his death, had dated and broken up with a criminal mastermind, but it’s not like it mattered. Flattering speeches or no, she didn't matter.

_– two, one, zero –_

She opened her eyes to find that the smile Sherlock had initially put on his face had morphed into a scowl. Glowering at her, Sherlock let out an impatient sigh. “If you’re done daydreaming, I would greatly appreciate it if you could manage your _job_ ,” he spat, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Molly’s eyes narrowed and she decided to do something she’d probably very much regret later. Much later. If she ever decided to regret it at all.

-xOx-

Storming out of the lab, Molly headed for the elevator, shoulders still heaving with rage. “Wow,” she heard Lestrade say as she stabbed at the button. “What the hell was that?”

“Idiot,” she heard Sherlock wheeze and for a moment she felt bad before she shoved that feeling away. “John. John, go after her.”

“Not on your life mate,” John said, sounding as if he was very much torn between sympathy, disappointment, and mirth. “No one’s that brave.”

The lab doors closed before she could hear what Sherlock had to say next, the elevator doors opening as they snapped shut. Staggering through the doors she hit the button for the ground floor then the door close button over and over again until the doors slid shut. She thought she heard the lab doors open and her name being called, but by then it was too late.

Leaning against the elevator walls, Molly sniffled and tried to hold back tears. She shouldn’t have done that, she really, really shouldn’t have. For a moment she’d just been so angry and Sherlock had been standing there and glaring at her as if she were some sort of moron and she’d not slept for days and she’d just been so _mad_. He’d just been such a berk lately, acting as if she was a bit of rubbish stuck to his shoe, when she’d thought they’d actually been getting along better. That they were _friends_ now. What rubbish. Sherlock Holmes didn’t have friends. He’d told her so himself and even though he’d been clearly fibbing at the time it was painfully obvious he’d been deluding her when she thought she’d been included in that small group. The heartless bastard.

The elevator doors pinged open and she hurried out, keeping her head down to try and hide her red eyes. There was a small crowd huddled around the hospital doors, gazing in dismay at the truly awful weather outside. The sky was so grey it was almost a strange yellow-green, the rain simply pouring down. It didn’t matter though. If she stayed she would be spotted or, worse, forced to go back to the lab to apologize so she pushed her way through, holding her bag over her head to try and block the worst of the rain as she ran for the bus.

Luckily for her the bus was already at the terminal and she redoubled her speed as there were sharp pings all around her, tiny speckles of hail splattering all around her and striking her hands. Spotting her, the bus driver waited long enough for her to get inside before closing the doors, smiling at her as she panted and shivered from the rain. “Wicked weather we’re having,” he said, putting the bus into gear.

“Dreadful for June,” she gasped in agreement and dug through her bag until she found her pass, swiping it and staggering into the first empty seat she could find. The bus was unusually full for a late morning, the people looking drawn and worried as they gazed outside. All thoughts of what had happened in the lab fled her mind as she turned her gaze out the window and gaped. The rain was just pouring down, which was rare enough in London, but the hail was nothing that she’d ever seen before. Instead of the little pebbles she’d been struck with it was coming down like golf balls now, striking and shattering the windscreen of the cab passing the bus.

The other passengers and she gasped as the cab swerved to a stop, the bus driver carrying on with his eyes focused tight on the road. His knuckles were white from the stress and they hunkered down in their seats and went silent as they drove through the congested streets under the odd green sky.

Arriving at the tube station with only a moment’s delay, Molly found herself glancing at her fellow passenger’s brollies with green envy before taking a deep breath and hurrying out into the hail and pouring rain. She’d made it only half-way to the stairs when she heard her name being called and looked up to see a tall man beckoning to her from the safety of a large black brolly. She bit her lip, wondering if it was too late to pretend she hadn’t seen him but he called her name again and she sighed.

Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s brother. She’d met him only thrice before and none of the meetings had been pleasant affairs. If he was summoning her now it most likely meant he’d already heard about the lab. Wondering if this meant she was about to be killed for her crimes against Holmes body and country, Molly hurried over to Mycroft’s big black towncar anyway. The tall man waited for her, holding his umbrella out as she got into the car before following her in, shutting the door behind them both.

“Miserable weather today,” he said, tapping on the glass dividing them from their driver. The towncar lurched into movement, sliding in among the dark cabs.

“Dreadful for June,” she said again, sinking down into her seat before jolting upright. She was soaked and the seats were leather and probably worth more than her life. If she wasn’t going to be punished for assaulting Sherlock, she surely would be for running Mycroft’s upholstery.

The older man said nothing, his gaze on her though as they traveled through the streets of London. Squirming and trying not to drip too much Molly smiled at him weakly. “So...” she started weakly. “Did you just happen to be in the area?”

“No, I’m afraid I was seeking you out. Sherlock rang me,” Mycroft said calmly. His lip twitched as the blanched and went white.

“Did he?”

“He did. He had quite a bit to say about you,” he drawled and crossed his legs, resting his still wet brolly across them. “It was quite… intriguing. More so after I viewed the security footage.”

Face going red, Molly looked away and clenched her hands. She felt like shouting and yelling some of the things she’d said to Sherlock at his brother. She also felt quite a bit like weeping. Trapped between the two she said nothing and instead stared at her shoes, soaked through by the rain.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Mycroft said instead. “The Moriarty situation I presume. Would you find it reassuring if I informed you that you were under a security detail?”

She let out a scratchy laugh, somehow both surprised and not by the news. “I suppose we’re all under one then?”

Mycroft tilted his head to one side and regarded her as if she were an insect on a pin. “Yes.”

“You know it won’t stop Jim if he puts his mind to it. You’d best put them on Mary instead where they might actually do some good. She’s the one that matters,” she said, trying to fight back the urge to cry that was winning.

Tilting his head to the other side, Mycroft’s face somehow both softened and went harder at the same time. “Sherlock specifically requested that you be placed under a protection detail as well.”

“So he doesn’t have to train up the next lab tech?” she asked with a bit of a snort.

Lips pursing, Mycroft seemed poised to answer when the mobile in his pocket chimed. “Something like that,” he said instead, drawing the device out of his pocket and checking it. His brow furrowed as he read the message.

Letting the man work, Molly turned her attention out the window. The rain was rapidly lessening and, to her surprise, they were already on her street. With a final turn they were at her building and the rain and hail pattered to a stop. The sky was still green for some reason. Grabbing her bag, Molly muttered a thank you and opened the door.

“Doctor Hooper?” Mycroft’s voice stopped her.

Instead of shutting the car door, she peered back in and waited for him to continue.

Mycroft sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was the exact same thing that Sherlock did when he was struggling to find words and to see it on the older Holmes brother was enough to make her crack a smile. “My brother has the highest regards for you,” Mycroft said, seeming uncomfortable with the words. “He finds you invaluable. More so then I am in authorized to say.”

A true smile crossed her lips though it didn’t reach her eyes. It was kind of Mycroft to say such a thing when it so clearly made him uncomfortable and it was kind of him to try and fix Sherlock’s messes. Not that it had been Sherlock to truly make a mess of it this time. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Holmes,” she said and gently shut the car door.

The car waited for her until she opened the door of her building, struggling with her damp bag to extract the keys. At least it had stopped raining, though the air felt strangely still and oppressive. Perhaps it would start to rain again soon? She made a mental note to check and make certain that her windows were shut and latched, waving goodbye to Mycroft as she let herself in.

Making her way up the stairs, she wondered if she should eat now or go straight to bed when her mobile began to ring. Fishing it out of her bag she groaned loudly. It was Mike. She really didn’t want to talk to Mike, not now when the fight was still fresh in her mind and the hurt was still there, but he was surely calling more as her supervisor then her friend and they’d need to talk about what happened.

Tucking her back under her arm she answered, ready to be dressed down. “Hello Mike.”

“Molly, where are you?” Mike asked. His voice was tight and high, strangely stressed. Obviously he was more than a little upset about the Sherlock situation.

“I’ve just arrived home,” she replied, praying that he wouldn’t ask her to come back. “Look Mike, I know what happened was very unprofessional of me and I’m sorry-“

“Good,” Mike said and she blinked rapidly. Good? What? “Listen, does your building have storage underground or a cellar?”

Blinking again, Molly frowned a little as she reached her floor, pausing outside her door. Someone on the floor above her was vacuuming or something and she tucked her mobile against her shoulder to put a hand over her other ear. “I think so. There’s a utility room.”

“Get inside it, right now,” Mike barked, voice firm. “There’s a tornado coming.”

“A tornado? In London?” Molly asked, voice incredulous as she couldn’t believe her ears. “Are you sure, Mike?”

“That’s what the telly and the news is reporting and the radar shows something forming right by your neighborhood,” Mike said, voice going a little frantic. “Please, Molly. Humour me and get underground.”

Her heart did a strange little flitter and thump as she realized the window at the end of the hall was vibrating in its frame and she cursed mentally. There was no floor above hers. The loud vacuuming noise was coming from outside. She fumbled with her keys, shoving them in the lock. “R-right. I need to grab Toby,” she said, thrusting the door open. The world outside her windows was green, the windows vibrating hard enough to clatter as she the roaring grew.

“Molly-!” she heard Mike cry over the mobile but she rang off, dropping her mobile on the end table with her keys and bag, running on automatic.

“Toby!” she cooed, voice trembling as she kicked her door shut, stepping out of her shoes without thought. “Come here, Toby!” The feline didn’t appear though and Molly raced through the flat, her hands shaking as the sound of crumbling masonry reached her ears and the roar of the tornado grew.

A tornado! In London! Was such a thing even possible she wondered as she reached her bedroom and half threw herself under the bed. Perhaps she could blame global warming.

Sure enough her cat was under the bed, trembling hard with eyes blown wide and golden. Clawing for him, Molly grabbed a handful of fur and pulled hard. Letting out a terrified yowl, Toby went limp and let her pull him out from under the bed and into her arms. Turning for the door Molly screamed as her bedroom window suddenly shattered, the curtain rod going flying and striking her in the head.

Molly gasped and staggered, holding Toby tight before collapsing onto her bed. Her last thought was of regret, wishing she hadn’t lost her temper with Sherlock before the world went dark, the roar of the tornado whisking her away.


	2. Not in London Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorth- I mean, Molly awakens to find herself a stranger in a very strange land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm glad to see that other people are enjoying my little insanity diversion! Hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter (entitled 'Brains') up as quickly as this one. As I have a feeling that the next few chapters are going to be considerably shorter, I think they shouldn't be too hard to get up! Additional Author Notes are below with a very brief disclaimer on the choice of one of the characters! Thank you and Enjoy!

Molly awoke to the throbbing of her head and what felt like damp sandpaper being dragged across her skin. Eyes blinking open she looked up to see a blurry brown and white fuzzy face hunched over her, a long pink tongue darting out to lick her cheek over and over again. She groaned and pushed the small mass of fur away. "Toby…. Go 'way," she moaned, rolling over to go back to sleep. Ignoring her protests completely, Toby began licking her cheek again. "Noooo…. Toby…."

There'd been a tornado.

Eyes blinking open, Molly sat bolt upright and looked around quickly. Her room was a complete tip, her clothing and possessions strewn everywhere but she was alone. Well, alone except for Toby who was glowering up at her, most likely wondering when dinner was going to be served. Gazing around the shattered chaos of her room, Molly swallowed hard and reached for her little cat. He didn't struggle, letting her hold him tight to her chest as she slid from the bed and tip toed her way around the mirror that had shattered on the floor.

Feeling more than a little shook up and her head still pounding, Molly made her way down her hall. Catching sight of her kitchen she whimpered a little, her grip on Toby tightening. Every single dish and glass was broken, the glass spread out over the floor. All of her picture frames were down as well, the shattered frame of a snapshot of her and her father gazing at her from the middle of the floor. Toby let out an annoyed mew as she squeezed him too tight, struggling a little.

"Sorry! Sorry," she gasped, loosening her grip. Holding Toby close to her chest she began picking her way across the room towards her front door, tears pricking her eyes. "They're only things," she told herself out loud, struggling to believe herself. "I'm safe and so is Toby and that's all that matters."

Reaching the front door she found her mobile on the floor by the overturned end table. The screen was cracked but it turned on, though there were no bars to be found. She frowned, clicking the screen off and shoving it into her back pocket. Really, depending on how bad the tornado was, it really was to be expected that cell service was down. More troubling was the lack of sirens coming from outside. She would have thought she would have heard police or an ambulance racing past, but it was strangely silent out.

Shoving her feet into her ratty but comfortable trainers Molly looked around desperately for something to put Toby into. He was an indoor sort of cat and she couldn't have him getting lost while she went looking for help. Finding a wicker hamper she'd been using to hold silk flowers by the sofa, Molly grabbed an old scarf and put it on the bottom of the hamper and gently put Toby inside. Still shook up from the tornado, Toby went quietly and she shut the lid before picking up her cat and making her way towards the door.

Checking to make sure she had her keys, Molly opened the door. Her eyes went wide and she gasped.

"Oh!" she breathed. "Toby… I have a feeling we're not in London anymore."

Instead of her boring old hallway with its faded 80s carpet there was a riot of colour outside. Squinting hard, Molly shaded her eyes as she stepped into the light, hardly believing what she was seeing. There was lush vegetation everywhere, the flowers and leaves brighter than anything she'd ever seen before. Leaving her drab flat behind, Molly gaped at the flowers and the strange squat houses she found herself surrounded by and wondered if this was some sort of symptom of a concussion she'd never learned of. The Technicolor brightness – so bold and vibrant it was like she'd never seen color before – seemed as if it could be from a concussion, but hallucinations? What had happened? How had she come to be in this place?

Catching a bit of movement out of the corner of her eye, Molly turned only to see a hedge with some flowers sticking out of it. Palms going a bit sweaty she turned away only to hear tittering laughter and when she turned back the flowers were gone.

She swallowed hard. Clutching tight to Toby's basket she slowly began backing away towards her flat wondering how long it would take for her to find her cricket bat. Turning sharply she made to run when she caught sight of something in the sky coming towards her.

It was a bubble. A massive, shimmering, Technicolor bubble. With a woman inside. A woman inside a massive, flying, Technicolor bubble. What the _hell_!? Freezing in her tracks, Molly gaped as the bubble came in for a landing in front of her, the Technicolor fading away to reveal a blond woman, her hair in large golden ringlets, wearing a massive pink ball gown and crown standing before her. Smiling at her, the woman walked towards her, carrying a bedazzled star topped wand as tall as she was.

"Oh. Now I know we're not in London," Molly breathed, frozen as this strange, bubble traveling woman came closer.

The blond woman peered at her, her blue eyes as gentle as her smile. "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" she asked, beaming kindly at Molly. "Though you must forgive me, for you don't look like a witch at all."

"Who? Me?" Molly asked. She swallowed hard and tried a weak smile back. It was best not to anger the crazy bubble flying ladies when trapped in crazy land. "I'm not a witch. My name is Molly. Molly Hooper. I'm from London. I think I'm a bit lost."

"You must be, since I've never heard of a place called London before," the pink clad woman said. She laughed and it sounded like bells, her corseted body and curls shaking gaily. "Kansas I've heard of, but never London. Is London quite near to Kansas?"

"Um… No."

"That's too bad," the woman sighed, ruby lips frowning a little. "If you're not a witch, then would you happen to know who dropped that house upon the Wicked Witch of the East?" She gestured back towards Molly's drab little flat, her gaze going with it.

The top floor containing her flat had been sheered right off the building, the remains neatly landing upon a very nearly cleared space in the village square. It was only very _nearly_ cleared for out of the edge of the building a pair of striped stockings were sticking out from the bottom of her flat, a pair of bright red heels still affixed to them. Molly swallowed hard. Her flat had landed on a person? God, could you go to jail for accidentally murdering someone with a flat? With bubble people, who knew?

"I-I didn't mean to," Molly gasped, taking a step back. "It was the tornado! I was just sort of along for the ride, I didn't mean to kill your friend!"

There was tittering from all around her and Molly spun, expecting to see someone there but spotted nothing but more flower hedges. The pink woman laughed as well, shaking her head. "Don't mind the Munchkins, my dear. They're just laughing as Irene, the Wicked Witch of the East was no friend of mine. I'm Mary, the Good Witch of the North."

Molly blinked, the back of her neck tingling a little. There was something nagging at her mind, something familiar but she couldn't quite place it. "What's a Munchkin?" she asked instead.

More tittering and as Mary laughed and took Molly's hand, small figures began to pour out of just about everywhere. Little people came out of the houses, the bushes, even from the sewer grates. Each and every one of them was dressed like little dolls, their hair and makeup perfectly done as they gazed up at Molly with wide adoring eyes. Molly took a step back as they came closer and frowned. "I'm not entirely certain how politically correct this is," she told Mary who frowned a little.

"What is that, my dear?" Mary asked. She was quickly distracted though as the Munchkins – no, little people – began chattering among themselves. "My dears, my dears! Take heart! Come and meet Molly who has freed your small city from the tyranny of Irene, the Wicked Witch of the East! Let all around in Oz be said that the wicked old Witch at last is dead!"

A great cheer went up in the crowd and Molly found herself pulled into a riot of celebrating small people, most of them no higher than her waist. Her basket was pulled from her hands, Toby yowling in protest as she was yanked this way and that. Flowers were shoved into her hands and gifts, an impromptu brass band starting up as the little people began to dance in a manner that very nearly seemed choreographed. Pushed into a carriage, Molly was paraded through the town, her eyes wide as she clutched her flower bouquet. The little people cheered as she passed, throwing confetti and singing in a shrill high pitched song that she couldn't quite make out the words to. It seemed to have something to do with witches and clocks, though she didn't mind what they were singing since no one seemed to remember that they were celebrating an accidental murderer.

After the parade there was more singing and cheering. She found herself shaking the hand of a stern looking woman flanked by ballerinas who declared herself the Leader of the Lullaby League. An out of time looking tough man shoved a giant lollipop into her hands and said he was the representative of the Lollipop Guild and welcomed her to Munchkinland. Which was rather nice actually, though she still wasn't quite certain how politically correct the term Munchkin was.

At last the Coroner came over, unrolling an oversized Certificate of Death and Molly frowned. "Wait, when did you have time to do an autopsy?" she asked as the crowd burst into another round of cheers and dancing.

The little Coroner blinked at her, looking confused. "Autopsy? What's that?" he asked, but before she could answer she was swept up into the party again.

Someone shoved a fizzy bright blue drink that tasted of grapes into Molly's hands while others started to erect a maypole. Sipping her drink, Molly smiled and managed to make her way to Mary who was laughing uproarious as she too drank a blue drink. "What is this stuff?" Molly asked, shouting to be heard over the band.

"Munchkin Juice!" Mary laughed back and took a big drink. "Come on, have some! Then we can dance!" Still laughing, Mary topped off Molly's glass and, after urging her to drink again, dove into the crowd. Half again taller than any of the little people and wearing that massive ball gown, Mary was an easy sight to see as she boogied down with the Munchkins.

Sniffing her drink, Molly frowned as the party started getting more and more riotous. From the swimming of her head she'd gotten from drinking just half a glass of Munchkin Juice it was obvious the stuff was alcoholic, but did she really want to get drunk in front of a load of strangers? She glanced over to her side to see a rather perturbed looking Toby sitting there, his feline face turned up in disgust at the humanoid antics around him.

"Stop judging me," Molly sniffed and looked back to her drink. The world swayed pleasantly and she shrugged. "When in Munchkinland."

From there the party started to get really hazy. She remembered a line of male little people half the village square long, lining up to take a piss on the Wicked Witch of the East's legs and she remembered dancing with a group of women dressed up like baby birds that actually slept in a nest. And ruby slippers. For some reason she had been dared to put on the Wicked Witch's ruby slippers and dance among the little people. Which she had managed to do for maybe three steps before falling on her face much to the mirth of all around her. At the very least she had to been dreaming Mary's uproarious laughter as they did jawbreaker shots off of a Munchkin's chest. Though her jaw did hurt so maybe it hadn't been a dream after all…

She woke up to the feeling of someone nudging at her face with what felt like a shoe toe. It was the second time in as many days that something like this had happened. It wasn't a good trend. Groaning, she opened her eyes to see a pair of black loafers in front of her face. So someone had actually been nudging her face with their shoe. Rude.

Her eyes traveled up the black clad leg to the bulge of hands shoved into immaculately tailored suit pockets. Up past the white shirt with the skull print tie, up to the massive fur cape (A cape? Really?) to the green face that peered back down at her. She blinked. A green face. There was a green man looking down at her. His dark eyes bore down, looking at her with an intensity that she found uncomfortable, his widow peak of dark hair furrowed in thought.

Tilting his head one way then the other he scowled and squatted next to her. "You seem to be wearing my shoes," he said.

Molly blinking again and glanced down at her feet. The ruby slippers were glistening there, shining bright in the early morning sun and she flushed. She was wearing a dead woman's shoes. A woman – or rather, witch – that she had inadvertently murdered with her flat and she was wearing her shoes.

"S-Sorry!" she stammered, sitting up so quickly she nearly clocked the green man in the nose with her head. He reared back, toppling over as she reached for the shoes, trying hard to pull them off. They wouldn't budge, the shoes not even moving a millimeter as she struggled to yank them off. She looked up at the green man, struck once again by a surge of familiarity though this time it only brought fear. "They, ah, won't come off."

"Well that's a bloody waste," the green man said, standing back up. He took a step away from her and lifted his hand, the green digits being consumed by fire as she watched. "I suppose I'll have to take them from your corpse then. Too bad. You're quite pretty in a sort of girl-next-door kind of way."

Throwing up her hands as the man threw the fire ball at her – as if that would help! – Molly felt a burst of heat surround then dissipate around her. Opening her eyes she realized that Mary was at her side, the blond woman's eyes narrowed and her blond curls perfect as she pointed her massive wand threateningly at the green man. "Begone Warlock! You have no power here!"

The green man, the warlock, tisked and shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Ah, Mary. So you've finally pulled that wand out of your ass and decided to come mingle with the little people now have you?"

Mary bristled but only pressed closer to Molly, blocking her body from Moriarty's sight with the folds of her massive pink dress. "Leave this place, Moriarty! Your minion, the Wicked Witch of the East is dead and I shall not allow harm to come to the savior of the Munchkin people."

Moriarty rolled his eyes but took a step back as Mary's wand got closer to him. "I don't particularly care much about Irene," he sneered, casually glancing this way and that. "I was going to have to take care of her anyway, so actually your little friend's done me a bit of a favour. No, it's the shoes I'm after. There's quite a bit of magic in those and, frankly, I need it back." He paused, gaze falling on Toby who was peacefully snoozing in a sunbeam. Smiling wickedly he pointed at the cat. "This yours?"

"No!" Molly gasped. Leaping to her feet she ran for Toby somehow grabbing her cat and throwing them both from harm as Moriarty's fireball hit the yellow bricks the cat had been sleeping on. Yowling in protest, Toby burst from her hands and dashed away to hide as Molly wheezed on the ground, her ribs aching from hitting the hard ground.

"That was easy!" Moriarty chirped, smiling widely as he threw another fireball right at her.

In a flash Mary was between them again, a bubble forming around them both. The flames hit the bubble and flowed around it, dissipating quickly as Mary twirled her wand. "I said, _BEGONE!_ " she roared, sparkling star pointing straight at the warlock. A massive pink bubble flew from the wand, striking Moriarty in the chest.

Hissing, Moriarty took a step back from the blow. Raising his green fire consumed hands he froze as he caught sight of his clothes. "Oh you bitch," he snapped. The impact of the bubble had torn his suit and shirt, green skin visible underneath. Glaring murderously at Mary his eyes flashed, pin pricks of red light seeming to light up the depths of his dark eyes. "This was _Westwood_!"

Mary held her ground staying between Moriarty and Molly, her face bound and determined as she continued to point her wand at the warlock. With a growl, Moriarty ran his hands through his hair before sighing loudly. "Fine. _Fine!_ " he shouted. "I'll go. But mark my words, you can't protect that little brat forever. When your back is turned I'll strike and take back what's rightfully mine." Turning he stalked away before suddenly whirling back around to point at Molly. "Do you hear that? I'll get you, my pretty! And your little pussy too!"

Flushing as the warlock was looking at a very specific part of her anatomy when he'd said that, Molly winced as a fireball engulfed Moriarty and he vanished in a swirl of smoke. After it had cleared, the warlock gone, she looked up at a slowly relaxing Mary. "Who was that?"

"That was Moriarty, the Wicked Warlock of the West," Mary said, wand arm relaxing at last. "You've made a dreadful enemy this day."

Molly swallowed hard and shakily got up to her feet. "Is this because of the shoes? They're not even his size!" she said, wrapping her arms around herself and laughing nervously. "If they're that important to them, he can have them."

Turning towards her, Mary grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently, gazing into Molly's eyes. "No! You mustn't give the Wicked Warlock of the West those shoes. They're incredibly powerful. The Wicked Witch of the East, Irene, was able to hold all of Munchkinland under her sway due to the power of the slippers."

Molly bit her lip and frowned. "I'm sorry, but what can I do about it? I'm not a witch-killer, I'm a Specialist Register from London! I'm used to getting my witches already dead."

Looking away, Mary looked pensive for a moment before brightening. "The Wizard!"

"The Wizard?" Molly repeated, frowning deeper as Mary spun away and dragged her to the center of the village square. There a swirl of yellow and red bricks started, the yellow bricks heading off out of town while the red bricks went into the village. "What Wizard? Is he a good Wizard or a bad Wizard?"

"He's the Wizard of Oz," Mary said, gently pushing Molly so she was standing at the start of the swirl of yellow bricks. "He rules over the entire land of Oz and all who live here. He's very good and very powerful. You must travel down the yellow brick road to the Emerald City. There you can get an audience with the Wizard. If anyone knows how to send you home, the Wizard will!"

"But what about the shoes?"

"Once you take the ruby slippers out of Oz, the Wicked Warlock of the West won't be able to reach them anymore," Mary said, smiling confidently.

Molly bit her lip, looking around. "If I'm leaving I need Toby and maybe I should get a change of clothes?" she mused, glancing down at herself. "I'm rather shabby to be meeting a Wizard."

"Let me take care of that!" Mary chirped.

Raising her bedazzled wand high she waved it around Molly's head. The thought struck Molly that perhaps it wasn't wise to be dressed by a woman who seemed to think 'vomited up by a candy floss machine' was a good look but by then it was too late. Silver sparks surrounded her and when they faded away Molly found that her jeans had vanished. Her checkered blue and white shirt she'd thought had looked so adorable in a sort of country chic way had lengthened into a full dress and socks had appeared on her feet. Socks! She was wearing three inch high, ruby red, sparkling, screw-me heels and Mary thought that socks were the perfect thing to go with that. Considering that Mary had also redone her hair, brushing out her ponytail into perfectly curled pigtails on either side of her face her concern over Mary's fashion sense was completely justified.

"Perfect!" Mary said, clasping her hands to her chest.

Scowling down at her clothes, Molly held out the blue checked dress. "Actually-"

"I've taken the liberty of putting a small enchantment on your little kitty-cat to ensure he'll follow you on your journey," Mary said, gesturing to Toby who was now contentedly sitting by Molly's heels. "Wherever you go he'll follow."

"Oh. Thank you! That's very kind of you, but about this dress…"

"No need to thank me!" Mary said. The giant pink bubble started to form around her, lifting her slowly up into the air. "Just remember to follow the yellow brick road and everything shall be alright!"

Eyes going wide, Molly ran a few steps after the bright bubble. "Wait! Mary! This dress is too twee even for me I-" Gaining altitude quickly, Mary vanished from sight and Molly stopped, sighing deeply. She looked down at herself again muttering, "I look like a five year old."

A small hand reached up and tugged on her dress. Looking down she saw one of the little people there beaming at her. "Follow the yellow brick road!" he said, grinning.

Molly smiled back and nodded, gently stepping away from him. "Yes, ah, Mary said that."

Another hand pulled on her dress and she turned to see one of the Lullaby League ballerinas standing there. "Follow the yellow brick road!" she chirped.

Nodding, Molly took a step back and tried to edge her way back towards her flat. "Yes, I'm going to do that. Just let me pop into my place real fast to change and grab a jumper and I-"

Bumping into the tallest Munchkin she'd seen yet she turned around to see a small crowd of little people standing there holding farm equipment and glowering at her. The mayor stood in the center, a lit torch in his hands. "Follow the yellow brick road," he said, eyes narrowing at her.

Swallowing hard, Molly nodded again and hurried back to the center of the swirl. "Following the yellow brick road!" she said quickly.

Moving fast she followed the swirl until it started to leave town, the Munchkins cheering up with every step. By the time she hit the end of town the party had started up again, the blue fizzy drink pouring and the band playing backwards in their enthusiasm. Hooting and cheering followed her out as she walked down the yellow road, stumbling and cursing occasionally as the heels of her shoe tried to slip between the bricks.

Glancing behind her, Molly frowned at the small town and mentally gave it an incredibly rude gesture. That was enough to satisfy her a bit and she sighed, straightening her dress before she looked down at Toby who was faithfully following her as promised. "Come on Toby," she said, forcing a smile. "We're off to meet the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As a quick justification for the Wicked Witch of the East being Irene, this is Molly's dream and not mine. I personally think that Irene is a perfectly lovely character but all that Molly really knows about her is that she drugged Sherlock and held his interest which really wouldn't endear her to Irene.


	3. Brains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

As soon as Molly was out of sight of the Derogatory-Name-Against-Little-People land Molly stopped at the side of the yellow brick road to take stock of her situation. She'd been swept up by the seemingly impossible, a tornado in London, and deposited into a strange brightly lit world that seemed eerily familiar. That or she had a concussion and was hopped up on morphine in the hospital. She was leaning towards the hospital. Besides that she had apparently killed a woman and stolen her shoes, had a green pervert chasing after her for said shoes, needed to meet with a Wizard to go home, and the aforementioned Little People had all but chased her out of town. And to top it all, Mary's transformation into this _stupid_ dress had made her mobile vanish, though she had found her keys in a dress pocket.

Bugger it all. She was doomed.

She sighed deeply, turning around in a slow circle. The yellow brick road travelled off over the horizon crossing lush green fields and weaving through forest stands. It really was quiet beautiful. Toby sat down at her ankles, taking the break to give his paws a thorough cleaning, purring loudly in contentment in the warm Ozian sun. Perhaps things weren't as bad as she thought. However things still needed to be done and first thing was first; she needed to fix her hair.

Molly Hooper was the sort of woman that, admittedly, had a closet that was perhaps a little too full of H&M juniors' clothes, but that really wasn't her fault. She was frugal and she was petite and the clothes just fit her better. It wasn't like she'd filled her closet with sweatpants that said 'Juicy' across the bum in bright sparkling letters. Well, besides the one pair she already owned. Which she wore exclusively around her flat, thank you very much! God, those sweatpants. She lived in mortal fear that she'd be wearing then when XXX came over to use her place as a bolt-

Wait, XXX? Her mind had gone completely blank instead of providing a name. Who'd she been thinking of? Her brow furrowed as she undid the adorable blue checkered ties holding up the pigtails. That was odd. She couldn't remember. Why couldn't she remem-?

Toby meowed loudly and she looked down at him and smiled. "You hungry?" she cooed as she tried to finger comb her hair. The tresses were stiff with at least five pounds of hairspray holding the perfectly curled ends in their sausage shapes. Apparently Mary's magic wand held stock in Aqua Net. Looking up at her, tail swaying, Toby meowed and she laughed. "I'm sorry, Toby. I don't have anything for you right now. It's all back at the flat and, well," she glanced back the way she'd come, "I don't think I want to go back to that place."

Toby meowed again piteously and wove himself between her feet, leaving brown hairs on her socks.

"I'm sorry Toby," Molly said, pushing aside her massive skirt to scratch his chin. "I'm sure there's another town up head. Hopefully someone there can spare a bit of fish for you." Hair combed as best she could, Molly quickly did it up in a quick braid as she finished taking stock of things.

Now what to do? Tying off her braid, Molly glanced down at the ruby slippers adorning her feet. Mary and that green man – Was he really called the Wicked Warlock of the West? The names around here were just _ridiculous._ – had said they had powers. Could they really be magic? For three inches tall they were surprisingly easy to walk in and comfortable which was, quite frankly, magic but was that actual magic or a good cobbler? She turned the shoe this way and that, admiring how the sunlight sparkled against them. Well, even if they weren't magic they were beautiful though she did worry they made her look a bit like a prostitute playing up a baby doll image.

Toby stretched and sneezed loudly. Looking up at her and meowed again and she smiled. "Sure, let's get going and find you that food," she said. "Who knows, maybe the next town will be more helpful, huh Toby? I'm sure it won't take us long to get there."

-xOx-

The Ozian sun hung high in the sky, heat beating down upon her as she trudged down the yellow brick road. Had it even moved? Shading her eyes, Molly squinted and peered up at it with narrowed eyes. She had the feeling it hadn't moved a bit since she'd gotten there. That or she'd lost all sense of time. With the loss of her mobile she hadn't a clue how long she'd been walking along this dreadful road of yellow bricks. It felt like _hours_ though. Sweat dripped down the small of her back and she sighed, trudging on and hoping for a house or a river or _something_ to help her cool off.

At least the scenery had moved. She'd long left any trace of the village of Little People behind and the green fields of pastureland land had changed into cultivated fields as she walked. And walked. And walked. Even Toby was looking very put out, trotting quickly ahead so he could flop down on the side of the yellow brick road and pant for a bit before doing it over again. With so many fields around, Molly couldn't understand why they hadn't come across a farmhouse yet. She would murder a cuppa right about now. Even a glass of water and a bit of shade would do. Wasn't this road supposed to be a major thoroughfare? Where was everyone else?

Running up ahead again, Toby suddenly stopped and let out a loud wail. Heart leaping into her throat she looked up to see what was the matter only to find her current worst nightmare had come true. The yellow brick road had split.

Surrounded by fields of maize, no signs in sight, Molly looked down each side of the road with a sigh. She had no clue which way to go and no one around to ask. To the left the road traveled on until it vanished into the maize. To the right, more maize.

Putting her hands on her hips Molly mentally said a word that would have her mother washing her mouth out with soap. "Now what do we do?" she asked, glancing down towards Toby. "Which way is the fastest path to the Emerald City do you think?"

"I'm not sure, but that way is a very nice way."

Jumping, Molly's eyes went wide and she spun in a tight circle eyes searching for the source of the voice. There was no one there. Not the green faced Warlock, not a Little Person, nobody at all. She swallowed hard, eyes slowly drifting down to Toby even as she fought it. "Was-was that you?" she asked, voice trembling a little.

Toby stared back up at her and mewled softly.

Staring back at her cat, Molly tried to fight back the rising wave of hysteria. "For the love of god, Toby. If it's you just tell me. I need to know if I'm going crazy or not."

"Ha! Cats can't talk," the voice said again.

Molly jumped again, but inwardly thanked her lucky stars. The voice hadn't been coming from her cat. She wasn't going insane…. Probably. Maybe?

Eyes darting about, she peered at the place where she thought the voice was coming from and noticed a pole on the edge of the maize field. Her eyes followed it up to see a faded scarecrow, his patched clothes and musty hair ruffling a little in the breeze as he pointed vaguely off to the right. "Who said that?" she demanded, standing firm. Toby meowed loudly and she looked down at him as her cat rubbed up against her leg.

"It's pleasant that way too," the voice said.

Looking up, Molly couldn't spot the source of the voice but what she did see stole the breath from her. The scarecrow was pointing in the opposite direction now, arm extended to point towards the left path.

She swallowed hard. "Is there someone hiding in there?" she asked, voice wobbling a little more then she would have liked.

"Of course you could always go both ways," the voice said again and this time the scarecrow's mouth moved as his arms pivoted to point both directions.

A very particular memory of a very particular episode of _Doctor Who_ flashed into Molly's mind and it was all that she could do not to run, screaming, back the way she'd come. Instead she stood stock still and stared at the scarecrow, her blood turned to ice. If anyone asked it was bravery that made her stay, not the fact that in her terror she'd forgotten how her feet worked. That episode had been exceedingly frightening. Pepperpots be damned, it was creepy farm decorations that had made her hide behind the sofa in terror.

The scarecrow stared at her. She stared at the scarecrow. Now that blood was starting to return to her brain and the adrenaline was slowly wearing off she could see that the scarecrow wasn't anything like the ones from the telly. Instead of terrifying creatures designed to haunt her nightmares this one looked, well, friendly. It had a kindly earnest smile painted on his face and it looked as if a bird had once nested on his head for he had what almost looked to be a head of silver hair cut short and clean. Now that she was looking much closer she could see that the scarecrow was very nearly wearing some sort of faded uniform as well, what almost looked like a worn out felt bobby's helmet on his head. He very nearly looked quiet handsome really.

 _And very familiar_ , an inner voice hissed but she dismissed that thought quickly. She wasn't in the habit of being acquainted with scarecrows.

"Was that you speaking just now?" she asked, taking a step forward.

The scarecrow shook his head hard, a few strands of straw flying loose. Then, he paused and nodded just as vigorously. "You looked as if you needed directions," he said pleasantly.

"Oh," she said, calming a bit. The urge to run was still strong as she slowly continued to approach. "Why thank you. So, ah, can you tell me a bit about this path?" she asked, pointing to the right fork.

The scarecrow looked down the way she was pointing and smiled widely. "It's nice," he told her eagerly.

"Do you know how long it would take me to get to the Emerald City if I went that way?"

The scarecrow shook his head. "Nope! But look at those violets there. That way must be very nice."

Molly frowned a little. "What about that way?" she asked, pointing to the left.

Following her finger the scarecrow nodded, the buckle on his bobby's hat sparkling in the sun. "Oh, that's a very pleasant way. Just look at how the sunlight catches the bricks. Any path that lovely must be a very pleasant path."

Sighing deeply, Molly's shoulders sank. "Have you ever been down either of the paths?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The scarecrow shook his head, smile turning upside down into a frown. "I'm afraid not. Ever since the farmer made me I've been up on his pole trying to scare the birds," he sighed, an unlikely achievement for a man made of straw, and looked dejected. "Not that I'm any good at it. I can't scare the birds, I can't solve any cases, and it's all on account of me not having any brains."

"Wait, cases-?" Molly said, but as she said the words they flew from her mind to focus on other things. "What do you mean you haven't a brain? How can you speak if you don't have a brain?" Or move or breathe, for that matter, but she didn't want to confuse the poor dear.

"I'm not sure, but I was told that lots of people do a lot of talking even though they have no brains."

"Really? And who told you that?" Molly asked, coming closer.

The scarecrow brightened. "A very rude tin man who came through!" he said eagerly.

A man made of tin? Somehow she got the feeling that she shouldn't be surprised since she was talking to a man made of straw. "He does sound very rude," she agreed instead. Her eyes drifted to the yellow brick road again and she frowned. "So you really don't know how to get to the Emerald City?"

"No," the straw man said. He frowned, looking down at her. "Why are you going there anyway?"

"It's a long story," Molly drawled. "There was this tornado and then I got these magic shoes and there was this green man and then these midgets threw me out of town… Anyway, I'm off to the Emerald City to meet some Wizard who's supposed to be able to send me home. I think. That part wasn't particularly clear."

"The Wizard!" the scarecrow gasped. He fidgeted on his pole, eyes wide. "I say, do you think the Wizard could get me some brains?"

"Well, no, but if you get me a body on a slab and a bone saw I could-" Molly started then stopped, biting her lip. The scarecrow was staring at her and she flushed. "I mean… I suppose so? He's a very powerful Wizard."

The scarecrow grinned and squirmed on his pole, looking down around him. "If I had a brain I could make Detective Inspector," he said, struggling to get down. "Detective _Chief_ Inspector even! I say, could you help me down?"

Mind clouding for a moment, Molly shook her head to clear it. "I- Sure," she said, stumbling a little as she came over to the pole. What was wrong with her? Inspecting the pole carefully she struggled with the nails holding the scarecrow up, managing to bend most of them down with her fingers. The last one, of course, was the hardest though and she fetched out her keys from her pocket. Carefully taking off the tiny bottle of mace she, illegally, kept for self-defense from the ring she used her flat key to help bend the nail down. Holding both ends of the key she pushed down hard, the nail bending slowly. With a final tug the nail bent, the scarecrow came free, and her key snapped in two.

Gasping, Molly stared in dismay at her destroyed flat key as the scarecrow tumbled to the ground with a laugh. Blinking back tears she took a deep breath. What did it matter? Her flat had been sheared off her building and sent to another world, she wasn't going to need her key anymore. Still, she found herself breathing slowly through her nose as she dropped the key to the ground and walked away, to follow the scarecrow.

"I'm going to get a brain! A real brain!" the scarecrow cheered, spinning in a wide circle and tumbling to the ground in an explosion of hay and uniform bits. Hurrying over to help, Molly couldn't help but smile as she helped re-stuff him. He beamed up at her, face aglow. "I've always wanted a brain."

"I'm sure the Wizard will be more than happy to give you a brain," she said. Trying to keep her voice more confident then she felt she helped the scarecrow to his wobbly feet. "We'll get you a brain and then I can help you with whatever case you want." Wait…

"Do you mean it?" the scarecrow asked.

"I do," Molly said, shaking her head again to try and dispel the sudden fog that had settled upon it. "Since we're going to be traveling together I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Molly Hooper, I'm from London."

"I'm the scarecrow. From that pole," the straw man said, gesturing wildly and nearly knocking them both over. "You can call me Greg though."

"Is your name Greg then?"

The scarecrow shook his head. "I don't know. It's Greg. Or Gavin. Or George, Gaius, Graham, Gunner, Gary, Geoff-"

"Greg is fine," Molly said quickly. She glanced between the two paths and picked the right one as they were already closer to that one. Setting the scarecrow on his feet she checked to make sure Toby was following and headed down the yellow brick road, helping Greg stay balanced and upright as they went. "Since I'm new here, can you tell me anything about Oz?"

Greg beamed at her, painted face stretching wide. "Nope!" he said cheerfully. "I know absolutely nothing!"

"Great," Molly sighed, somehow not surprised. She smiled at the scarecrow though and linked arms with him. "Well let's be off to see the Wizard then, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz."

-xOx-

"So she's collected herself a little friend," Moriarty sneered, gazing at the crystal ball before him. "An idiot scarecrow without a brain. How _boring_. Another drink!"

A monkey hurried over, taking the cup from Moriarty before he dropped it and refilled it quickly. "Not everyone can be as interesting as the Tin Man," the monkey sniveled, putting the cup on the table.

Moriarty tisked, leaning back in his chair. "Don't remind me. I thought he was going to be interesting but then Irene ruined him and made him just as boring as the rest. Now there's only the Wizard left, that old phony." Taking up the drink he sipped at it slowly, eyeing the crystal ball as Molly and the scarecrow continued down the yellow brick road. "That little tart taking my shoes is the most excitement I've had in years."

Yawning, Moriarty stretched and raised his feet. Instantly the monkey darted beneath them, wincing as the Warlock's bespoke shoes crashed down on his wings to use him like a footstool. The things he did for his children...

"Someone send me Moran and CAM!" Moriarty bellowed down the hall. His eyes drifted back towards Molly and he smirked. "This has been an amusing diversion, but it's time for this nonsense to _end_."


	4. Asshole Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware the tree that bears rotten fruit...

The sun was still high in the sky as they left the fields behind and reached a small forest. In a way it was a relief, the trees shading them and blocking the heat, but Molly still found it troubling. With the sun immobile in the sky she couldn't tell how long this journey was taking her and that was worrisome. Had she been walking towards the Emerald City for a few hours or had it been closer to a day? Considering everything that had happened, she hoped that she and Greg would be reaching this Wizard soon. Strangely, she didn't feel tired and the ruby slippers on her feet were so comfortable they could have been her favorite trainers so that didn't help her gauge the time in the slightest.

Glancing over at the scarecrow at her side, Molly bit her lip. He hadn't been any use when she asked him the distance to the Emerald City or who the Wizard was, and he hadn't known anything about Mary or Moriarty, but maybe the sun was something he knew about. He did see it every day after all. "Is it just me or has the sun stopped moving?" she asked.

Greg stopped his looping walk to stare straight up at the sun, painted eyes not blinking. "Oh, the sun doesn't move unless it's rising or setting," he said. He took a step and pitched forward, nearly falling on his face before he caught his balance. While his gait was improving he still walked like a drunk sailor stuck on deck during a typhoon. "The Wizard controls it with a dial in the Emerald City."

She blinked. "The Wizard… controls the sun?"

"Yes! Everyone knows that," Greg said, beaming at her. She frowned, not certain if he was lying to her or if he just believed that nonsense. "There's a great dial in the Wizard's palace and he turns it to give all of Oz daytime and night."

"So if he forgets to turn the dial…"

"We have eternal day!" Greg said cheerfully. "It's much better then eternal night, I can tell you. The Wizard is very good at remembering though. Night should be here very soon."

Sending up a suspicious gaze towards the sun, all thoughts of the strange orbital behavior of distant stars fled her mind as they turned a corner to see an orchard of trees before them. Huge red apples, some the size of her fists or even larger, hung heavy in the trees and her mouth watered. It had been ages since she'd eaten or drunk a thing and she was both dehydrated and thirsty.

"Apples!" she gasped, hurrying forward.

A fence separated the orchard from the yellow brick road, a large sign on the closest post. 'Warning: Asshole Trees' it read, which caused her to hesitate but not much. Her stomach growled loudly and she hurried over to a bit of fallen fence to climb over. Going up to the first tree she hesitated, wondering if she should find someone to ask permission first then reached for an apple.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a female voice said.

Molly turned to see a woman walking through the orchard, struggling under the weight of a huge bucket of water. The woman's face was brown and made of canvas, her hair tightly curled black yarn, and- For god's sake she was a patchwork woman. Wasn't there any normal people around here? Limping her way between the trees, the patchwork woman made for the yellow brick road, glancing at Molly with dark eyes before continuing on.

"Sorry," Molly said, eyeing the bucket of water the woman was carrying and wondering if she could ask for a drink. "Are these your trees?"

"They're not anybody's trees," the woman said, continuing on. She was doing quite well considering she was made of rags and stuffing, her clean patchwork dress neatly mended and neat. Did patchwork people have bones to help support them?

Glancing back at the tempting fruit, Molly's stomach rumbled again. "Are the apples safe to eat? They're not poison or anything, are they?"

The patchwork woman shook her head, glancing at Greg who was hurrying over to help her with the bucket. "They're safe," she said, letting the scarecrow take the handle.

"Then why can't I eat them?" Molly asked.

Looking over her shoulder as the scarecrow helped her carry the bucket down the yellow brick road, the patchwork woman shrugged. "The trees are assholes," she said.

"But what does that mean?" Molly asked, trailing off as the patchwork woman and Greg continued on. The scarecrow had struck up a conversation with the woman, Toby dogging their heels as they continued on the yellow brick road with the bucket between them. Turning back to the trees, Molly frowned. Asshole trees. The sign had said the same thing but what did that even mean? Her stomach growled loudly again and she mentally shrugged. A single apple couldn't hurt.

Reaching up she plucked a big, red, juicy looking apple from the tree only to gasp as the tree suddenly moved, slapping the apple out of her hand. "Thief!" the tree shouted in a shrill voice. "Thief! There's a thief here trying to steal my fruit!"

The other trees began to stir, eyes in bark snapping open to peer at Molly as she held her hand and backed away. "I-I'm sorry!" she said, more than a little taken aback by the fact that they were talking trees. Though why she was surprised escaped her. So far she'd traveled on a tornado and met witches, warlocks, and people made of straw and patches. Talking trees were not that far out of the realm of possibility. "I'm sorry for trying to take one of your apples without permission. I was just so hungry and they looked so good-"

The tree gasped loudly, its knot eyes opening wide. "Hungry? You were going to eat that apple?" it demanded, sounding horrified.

Molly hesitated. "Yes?"

"Murderer!" the apple tree shrieked, waving it's branches frantically. "Tree murderer! It wants to eat my babies!"

Eyes going wide, Molly tried to protest but the trees wouldn't hear of it. Shrieking and shivering down to their roots they pelted branches and rocks at her until she turned to flee. One of them even pulled a bird's nest out of its leaves and threw it at her, the mother bird streaking after it, twittering with rage. Hiking her skirt up high, Molly ran down the yellow brick road after Greg and the patchwork woman, panting hard as she caught up and got out of range of the still screaming trees.

"Y-You didn't tell me that they were alive!" she gasped, glaring at the patchwork woman who looked back at her, a vague expression of concern on her face.

"Well what did you expect? I told you they were assholes," the patchwork woman said.

"Trees don't talk where I come from," Molly wheezed, rubbing at the stitch on her side. Really, she needed to start going jogging again.

"Really? That sounds nice," the patchwork woman said.

"Trees don't talk where I come from either," Greg said as the two of them began to carry the bucket back down the yellow brick road. "There's no trees at all actually! Just maize, as far as the eye can see."

"No trees at all, huh?" the patchwork woman said, tilting her head to one side. "That could actually solve all my problems."

"You have problems?" Greg asked, painted face going into a frown. "That's awful. Now I don't have any brains, but maybe Molly and I could help. We're off to see the Wizard so that I can get a brain and Molly can go back to London. Maybe the Wizard can help you with your problem too."

The patchwork woman smiled and shook her head. "No, you helping me with this bucket is all the help I need. Thank you."

It almost looked like Greg blushed, the paint on his cheeks going a little bit pink as he stumbled a bit. "Oh. No trouble! I'm Greg the scarecrow, what's your name?"

"I'm Sally, the patchwork doll," she replied, her own face going a little pink. "I've never met a scarecrow before."

Greg beamed at her. "That's funny. I've never met a patchwork doll."

Trailing behind them with Toby, Molly smiled and tried not to laugh. It was actually kind of sweet the way the two of them were gazing at each other. Her stomach rumbled in protest though and she sighed, touching it. "Hey Sally? I don't suppose you have anything to eat, do you? Or would it be alright if I had a bit of that water? I'm dreadfully hungry and thirsty."

Sally glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her. "I don't eat myself, but I think I have a bit of cheese and a cup at my cottage. You can rest there if you like. It should be night soon."

Glancing up at the sky to see that the sun still hadn't moved, Molly nodded. "That would be great."

Leading them down the yellow brick road a short distance more Sally stopped in front of a pair of small cottages on the side of the road. One was made of split logs while the other was more of a tent made out of colorful patches that flapped in the breeze. Sally stepped into the patchwork cottage, rolling back the door and emerging with a tin cup that she handed to Molly. "I'm going to need half the water, but you're welcome to the rest," she said, handing her a flannel rag as well.

Thanking her profusely, Molly sat by the bucket and drained three cups full of water before dipping the rag in to wet it. Wiping down her face and neck, she moaned in contentment as Sally rummaged around in both cottages before finding the hunk of cheese. "Thank you," she said again, filling the cup again and breaking off bits of cheese for Toby to eat. "You're very kind."

"You're welcome," Sally said, smiling at her.

Hunger sated for now and feeling much better, Molly sighed and stretched. "What did you need the water for anyway? Is it laundry day?" she asked, eyeing the patchwork cottage. It probably took quite a bit of effort to keep that thing clean.

Sally shook her head. "No, I need it for that," she said, gesturing across the yellow brick road.

Following the gesture, Molly frowned as she saw a statue standing there on the other side of the road. It was of a man made of tin, his arms crossed and a very annoyed look upon his face. He was metal from head to toe, the sculptor even having taken the time to create waves of hair to top his head and style them in messy curls. While she couldn't get the best look from across the road, it looked as if the statue was jointed in several places though each joint was red with rust. It hadn't been particularly well cared for.

"Why do you need the water for a statue?" Molly asked, brow furrowing.

Without answering, Sally picked up the bucket and carefully carried it across the yellow brick road. Struggling a little under the weight she carried it over to the statue and, very carefully, poured the entire contents of the bucket over the man's head. Dropping the now empty bucket on the ground she turned. "I needed it for that."

Molly frowned, mouth opening to ask why she'd done that when she paused. The shadows were changing rapidly, the light starting to dim. Standing, she peered up at the sky to see that the sun was in motion, racing towards the horizon. There was a moment of sunset and then the sun was gone, the moon rapidly rising up to take its place as the stars sprang to life and frogs began to sing.

Beaming at her, Greg gestured wildly towards the sky. "See! I told you the Wizard would remember!"

Speechless, Molly blinked at the suddenly dark sky as Sally came back up behind him. "I'm afraid that only the log cabin has a bed in it, but you're welcome to take it," she said. She glanced back at the dripping statue and smirked. "The owner doesn't need it anymore."

With the sun down the temperature cooled rapidly. Neither Greg nor Sally seemed all that interested in a fire, with good reason, and instead went into the patchwork cottage to unstuff themselves. From all the giggling and laughing that they did, Molly thought at first it had to be some sort of sexual code word but morbid curiosity on how that would work made her peak in only to find that they were actually doing just that. Unstuffing themselves. Greg and Sally carefully unpacked their respective stuffings and laid them out over Sally's neat patchwork carpet to presumably air themselves out as they chatted cheerfully. It was a bit creepy actually. More than a bit creepy.

Deciding that she was officially taking the bed in the log cabin, Molly glanced across the road. The tin statue was still standing there, still looking disapproving with his arms crossed and his face in a scowl. She wondered what had made him so angry. Yawning, she headed into the little log cabin and shut the door behind herself.

The cabin was very sparsely furnished with a narrow bed and what looked to be the periodic table of elements on the wall. That was actually the most surprising thing Molly had seen. After straw people and trees that talked, she would have thought this place operated on alchemist based elemental theory, but there was good old Carbon, Zinc, and the rest in their proper places on the table. In a way it was rather soothing. A small table took up most of the room a tin can with a spout sitting in the center of it. Molly picked it up only for her hands to come away slippery and dark. Setting it back down she lifted her fingers to her nose and made a face at the smell. Oil.

Wiping her fingers on her skirt she yawned again and sat on the mattress. A cloud of dust flew up and she sneezed, nose wrinkling. Whoever had lived her hadn't been back in a very long time. Pulling a patchwork quilt Sally had lent her up over her body, Molly laid down and tried to sleep as Toby leapt up onto the bed to join her. Sleep escaped her though. In a strange place, a strange world, her thoughts wouldn't calm down enough for her to rest. Instead she stared out the window and listened to the strange moaning of the frogs coming from outside.

The moonlight glittered against something that looked like glass and she sighed, sliding out of bed to pick it up. It wasn't like she was going to be able to fall asleep anyway, maybe whatever the object was would be interesting. It was some sort of sketch lying face down on an end table and Molly picked it up, tilting it towards the moonlight as she tried to get a good look at it. The drawing was of a man and woman. Of a gorgeous man and woman. The woman's hair and lips were dark, her expression smug as she looked at the artist. Dressed in a silken elegant gown with a pointy hat, she had an arm wrapped possessively around the man at her side. The man was beautiful as well in his own way. He was scowling at the artist as if he didn't want to be there, but there was something about his long face and mass of curls that made him simply irresistible.

In fact, the more Molly gazed at the drawing the more she was struck by how familiar the man looked. She tilted the picture towards the moon, the light dancing across the glass and giving the pair a metallic sheen and Molly froze. Her eyes went wide and she quickly set down the picture and raced outside. A moment later she burst back inside and seized the oil can before running back across the yellow brick road.

"No! What are you doing!?" she heard Sally shout as she reached the statue.

Looking back she saw Sally staggering from her patchwork cottage, hurriedly trying to stuff herself back up enough to walk as she stumbled towards her. "This isn't a statue!" Molly shouted back, pointing at the figure. "It's a real man. You've been letting him stand here and rust!"

"You don't understand," Sally said, eyes wide. The patchwork woman sighed deeply, shoulders shaking as she looked at the tin man. Cloth hands tightening into fists she stomped her half-stuffed foot against the ground. "You can't let the Freak free! He's nothing but an enormous bag of _**dickbears.**_ "


	5. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopes are different from actions and sometimes all it takes is a little bit of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start detailing where I got my inspiration for various Oz related things. For example, I got a few reviews that seemed to think I completely made up Sally's character when she's inspired by the character Scraps the Patchwork Girl from the Baum Oz books. If you're interested I'll be detailing my various inspirations at the bottom of the chapter with mentions as to where you can find them yourself.

There was a pause and a beat, Molly blinking as she held the oil can poised to help the man made of tin. "A dickbear? What's a dickbear?" she asked. Considering where she was and what had already happened she wasn't sure if this was just an insult or an actual creature. In this crazy land, anything could be possible.

"Oh, it's a very ferocious beast," Greg said, nodding his straw head so hard a few pieces flew free. "They live in the woods and are quite terrifying."

"I see." No, actually she didn't nor did she particularly want to. Any creature named a dickbear was not something she wanted to see. What would a creature like that even look like? A bear made out of dicks? She tried to picture it and then decided she really rather wouldn't, sticking to the 'do not want' idea instead. "Sally, why is this man-?"

"An enormous bag of dickbears?" Sally finished for her. Her cloth face hunched giving her the appearance of a deadly scowl. "That man has no heart. He forgot to ask the tinsmith for one and because of that he drove all the other villagers away."

"I… what?"

Sally sighed and gestured widely around her, cloth arm flapping back so hard she hit her own back. "This used to be a small, nice village," she said. Molly squinted into the darkness, biting her lip and could almost see it. There did seem to be quite a few cleared spaces in the woods that could have been where houses once stood. "Then Sherlock moved in. He had left the Emerald City for Oz knows what reason – they probably kicked him out – and he settled here. At first we thought his building his cottage here was a good thing. I mean, he told us that he was a trained detective from the Woggle-Bug's Royal College and, while none of us knew what that was, a person who detects things couldn't be all that bad to have around. But then, because he was here, the Wicked Witch of the East started coming around and-"

"Wait, what!?" Molly gasped, eyes going wide. She flushed, the heat seeming to race down all the way to her feet and the ruby slippers she still wore. "You mean Irene? That Wicked Witch of the East?"

"Well we only have the one, Praise Oz," Sally said. "They were dating or something. Anyway, it still wasn't all that bad. You had to watch out to make sure you didn't get on Irene's bad side – she'd change you into a pair of shoes or maybe a handbag if you did – but Sherlock wasn't around all that much since he was out detecting. But then the bugger went and got his hand chopped off!"

"His hand?" Greg asked. The scarecrow was completely engaged in the story, worrying his felt bobby's helmet with his hands. "How'd he get his hand chopped off?"

The patchwork doll shrugged. "I don't know. He said that a very Wicked Warlock cursed him or something. Anyway, after that, Sherlock would go off detecting and every time he left he came back with fewer and fewer parts."

Swallowing hard, Molly wetted her suddenly dry lips. "You mean…?"

"Yup!" Sally said brightly. "First the hand then – Snick! – there goes the foot. Next – Snack! – goes the arm until – Snicker-Snack Snicker-Snack – he comes back only a torso and part of a head. He'd been going to the tinsmith to get his parts replaced every time he lost a bit, but after that he went and just had his entire body made into tin. But the dickbear remembered to tell the tinsmith to preserve his brain, but neglected to remember his heart!"

Molly went white, staring at Sally in horror. "Th-that's awful!" she breathed, shivering in the moonlight.

Throwing her arms up in the air, Sally nodded. "I know! Do you know how awful it is to live with a man who doesn't have a heart? People started to move away just to get away from him!"

Coldness spread through her as Molly turned to look at the tin man. He stood there, motionless and shining in the bright night light, his eyes staring vacantly at a spot to his left. "He must have said such horrible things," she said, feeling strangely remote from it all. Somehow she was getting a feeling of déjà vu, though she didn't know how. She'd never met a man made out of tin after all.

Nodding, Sally wrapped her arms around herself. "Every time. Always. Always…"

They all stood there in silence, staring at the tin man until Sally sighed again deeply. "In any case, I was packing up myself to leave when it happened. Sherlock was standing just there telling me how happy he was that I was going, how alone protected him, when a freak rainstorm blew up. It began to rain and he rusted on the spot and I-" she shrugged, "-honestly, I didn't have the heart to leave him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I got to thinking and I realized that it might have been all Irene's fault. After Sherlock started loosing bits she lost all interest in him and stopped coming by which seemed to make him loose pieces of himself all the faster. I thought that maybe if I stayed here I could wait until Irene left Oz or was defeated and then see about un-rusting him. Maybe I could convince him to get a heart then," Sally said, her voice going very soft as she finished.

Molly bit her lip taking a deep breath only to be interrupted by Greg who threw his arms up in the air, spraying straw. "Good news! She's dead! The wickedest witch that ever was, the enemy of all of us here in Oz is dead!"

Looking away, Molly shrank in on herself as Sally gasped. "Really? How!?"

"Molly here dropped a house on her! Didn't you Molly?"

Flushing under the pair of looks she nodded, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. "Sort of. I mean, the tornado actually did the dropping for me. I was sort of, kind of, just a passenger."

"I told you!" Greg said, beaming at Sally. "We were walking down the yellow brick road and I asked Molly there where London was, because we're going to see the Wizard so I can get a brain and Molly can go back to London, and Molly said that London was very VERY far away. Farther then the Deadly Desert away! So I said 'Well then how did you get here?' And she said, 'There was a tornado and it picked up my flat and dropped it on the Wicked Witch of the East.' And I said, 'The Wicked Witch of the East is dead!?' just like you said just now Sally so then Molly said-"

"I think she gets the idea," Molly interrupted quickly before the scarecrow could repeat their entire conversation.

Standing there stock still, Sally stared at Molly with her painted eyes before suddenly letting out a loud whoop. Grabbing Greg by the hand she leaped to the center of the yellow brick road and dragged him into a hectic dance. The scarecrow either knew the steps or they were both making it up as they went, for the two stuffed people flew into a flurry of dancing that was honestly a bit nauseating to watch. With no bones in their bodies they were free to dance however they wanted and there was a bit too much bending in ways that Molly's brain said was impossible to be completely comfortable.

Turning her gaze back to the tin man, Molly took a deep breath and nodded firmly. Right then. If the Wizard could get Greg a brain then surely he could get this man, Sherlock, a heart. Lifting the oil can she pressed down the handle only to have Sally's hand clamp down on her wrist. The fabric of Sally's skin was soft, like well-worn flannel as she held on as tight as her stuffing was able.

"Just so we're clear, if you free him you're taking him with you," Sally said, voice serious. "He can't come back here unless he has a heart in his chest."

Molly swallowed but nodded, her eyes determined. "We'll take him to the Wizard and get him the help he needs," she promised.

Gazing at her for another moment Sally nodded and stepped back, releasing Molly.

Turning back to the tin man, Molly took a deep breath. Sending up a silent prayer she began squirting oil at the hinge of the man's jaw. At first it seemed as if nothing was happening but then the jaw began to slowly move from left to right before creaking open with a gasp. Quickly she applied more oil, the tin man letting out a low moan as the hinge finally freed up.

"My eyes. For the love of Oz, get my eyes next," was the first thing the Tin Man said, his voice a deep gravelly purr from years of disuse. "I've been staring at that same log for ages."

Feeling a tingle run down from her head to her toes, Molly flushed and silently nodded. She hesitated for a moment then sprayed oil onto his tin and glass eyes until they blinked before moving on. Slowly but steadily she moved down the tin man's body, freeing his joints as she went. She got a much better look at him as she did it as well. Whoever the tinsmith was he was very good and had taken the time to give the tin man the appearance of wearing clothes instead of simply being tin. Granted, they were clothes made out of tin, but they gave the impression that the man was wearing a bespoke suit. A very tight bespoke suit. She flushed and wasn't quite sure why.

Groaning, the tin man took a shaky step forward. He paused, gesturing impatiently for Molly to oil him up before taking another step. Checking his every joint for movement, he nodded and looked up at them all.

"Hello Sally," he said, thin tin lips pulling into a smirk as he regarded the patchwork girl. "I see Anderson broke up with you at last. Left you for the daughter of the rainbow, did he? A shame. I told you it would happen but still, a shame that you didn't listen. At least you won't have to keep patching your knees now."

Face scrunching back up into a glare, Sally crossed her arms. "I'm going to pull your house down and give it to the Munchkins for firewood while you're gone," she said.

"Oh no! Don't do that!" Greg gasped, cowering. "You're stuffed like me and could catch fire! I hate fire."

"Ah, the idiot scarecrow from the field. Wonderful, idiots all around me. And you are?" he asked, looking pointedly at Molly.

"I'm Molly. Molly Hooper. From London," Molly said, trying to dismiss the overwhelming feeling that she needed to curtsey.

Tin eyebrows lowering, Sherlock frowned. "Where's London? No," he quickly held up a rust streaked hand to stop her, "don't answer. Knowing where London is will clog up my brain and I'll only end up deleting it later."

Ignoring the glare Molly cast his way Sherlock clanged his way about before finally coming to a stop. He turned, gaze flittering across them all before settling on Molly. "To begin with, I have a few things I would like to clear up."

Sally groaned and slumped to the ground, covering her ears with patched hands.

With a clank and an empty whirr, Sherlock stood before them. "First of all, while I may have been rusted in place and unable to speak that doesn't mean I was unable to hear. I heard everything. To that point, I'd like to say that I objectively disagree with Sally's conclusions and deem her logic faulty. I have absolutely no need for a heart."

"Yes you do!" Sally shouted, waving her hand. "When you had your heart you were annoying but having you around was bearable or, at least, not completely awful. Now you're just an-"

"Enormous bag of dickbears," Sherlock said and his lip twitched. "Yes, as I said I heard everything which did include your rather colorful but ultimately dull insult. Discussion on the merits of my getting a heart is ultimately closed though as this is my body and I will do with it what I want. This actually leads me to my second point." If anything the tin man's expression darkened. "I'm not going to go see the Wizard, ergo, I am not going to the Emerald City."

"Why not?" Molly asked. "Even if you don't want a heart, the Wizard still might be able to help you. He might be able to turn you back into a real person instead of just tin."

Sniffing loudly, Sherlock glowered at her. "Excuse me? Despite the fact that I am just tin, I can assure you that I certainly am a real person. Besides I have no need to be a real person anymore. I've been improved. As a tin man I'm nearly indestructible, barring rain events, and I have no further need to sleep or eat. In any case, changing me back into flesh and blood wouldn't help me in the slightest as I am currently under a curse."

Molly's brow furrowed. "Yes, Sally mentioned that. Can we do anything to fix it?"

Before Sherlock could answer there was an explosion of smoke and fire from the top of the wooden cottage. Stepping out of the smoke and flame Moriarty stood on the peak of the roof, his green face leering down at them. "Sherlock!" he cried, grinning widely. "So good to see you again, my fine gentleman. Helping the little lady along are we?"

"Moriarty," the tin man growled, taking a step forward to stand in front of Molly. "What are you doing here?"

"Who me? I'm just trying to reclaim something that rightfully belongs to me. Little Miss Molly has stolen Irene's ruby slippers and I want them back," he sneered. "I must admit that I like the sight of them on her dainty little feet though I'd rather have them on my bedroom floor."

She flushed hotly as Greg stepped forward, waving a gloved fist at the Wicked Warlock. "Hey! That's no way to speak to a lady!"

"The scarecrow speaks," Moriarty drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Shut up, scarecrow or I'll stuff a mattress with you. This is between me and my future tin beehive."

"O-Oh yeah? Well I'll have you know that I'm not afraid of you," Greg said, standing bravely in the center of the yellow brick road.

"Really?" A truly wicked smile crossed Moriarty's face. "How about a little fire, scarecrow?" Pulling a hand out of his pocket he smirked as it became engulfed in flame. Greg's eyes went wide and he took a step back only for Moriarty to cackle loudly and throw the ball of flame at him. It struck the scarecrow in the center of his chest, exploding and engulfing his front in flames.

Sally screamed, falling away as Sherlock and Molly surged forward. Grabbing Greg, Molly threw him face first onto the ground and tried to use her ridiculous blue dress to smother the flames while Sherlock stomped the magical flames out. It was too late though; as the Wicked Warlock continued to shriek in laughter the flames touched the grass and rapidly began to spread, racing towards the little wooden cottage and Sally's tent. As if the fire had a mind of its own it headed straight for the structures and set them ablaze, consuming them in flames in seconds. There was a streak of white as Toby raced from the burning building, vanishing into the trees.

Still atop the burning cottage, Moriarty leered down at them, his green skin awash in the red glow of the inferno. "Ready to give up?" he asked, looking straight at Molly. "Give in to me and all of this ends right here and right now."

Her hands hot and burnt from beating out the flames on the scarecrow's chest, Molly looked up at him as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I-"

"Time to run," Sherlock interrupted. Giving up on his firefighting attempts he grabbed the scorched, groaning scarecrow and hauled him up and onto his shoulder. "Get up, Molly. It's time to go."

"But-" she tried to protest but Sherlock grabbed her hand and wrenched her painfully to her feet. Scarecrow tightly held in one arm and his grip like a shackle on Molly he turned and ran down the yellow brick road, Molly stumbling on her feet to keep up. They passed Sally, the patchwork doll standing there looking frightened and horrified as her home went up in flames and Molly made a mad grab for her, just barely catching hold of her sleeve as Sherlock barreled them past. Pitching forward, Sally nearly fell but Molly kept hold and soon enough the patchwork doll was running along with them as they fled the copse of trees, Moriarty's wicked laughter echoing behind them.

They ran for what felt like ages but was probably far less. Keeping up a brutal pace Sherlock chugged along the yellow brick road, his grip on Molly unwavering even though he didn't seem to tire or need to breathe. Gasping for breath, Molly promised herself that if she got through this in one piece she was going to take up jogging and finally get into shape but her silent promises came to an end as Sherlock suddenly came to a clanking stop.

The forest was far behind them, the orange glow of fire lit up the night sky with the stench of smoke heavy in the air. While they were still too close for Molly's comfort, Sherlock apparently felt that they were out of danger as he dropped the scarecrow onto the ground. Straw spilled from the front of burned through chest of the scarecrow and with a cut off gasp Greg laid still.

Panting for breath, Molly reached for a pulse before she reminded herself that there wouldn't be one. "Is he dead?" she gasped instead, looking up at Sherlock.

The tin man frowned and shook his head. "I don't know. I'm afraid I don't know much about the lives of stuffed people."

Looking around wildly, Molly tried to pull the tattered front of Greg's shirt closed. Her eyes alighted on Sally who was staring back at the forest and shifting from foot to foot, her eyes wide and her hands clenched. "My home, my home," she whispered, horrorstruck.

"Sally!" Molly shouted until the patchwork doll looked at her. Gesturing uselessly down at Greg she sniffled and tried not to burst into tears. She saw dead bodies every day, there was no reason to get so emotional over a scarecrow even if he was on the cusp of being her friend. "Can we… Can we do anything to help him?" she asked.

Eyeing Greg quickly Sally gasped and fell to her knees beside them. "We have to hurry before the magic leaves him," she said. Pressing up against her own leg she worked a sewing needle out of the flesh of her skin. "He's lost a lot of straw, we're going to need something to stuff him back up again and then close the hole."

"Right," Molly said with a nod. Grabbing at her own scorched skirt she took the fabric in both hands and began to tear.

There was the empty clank of tin as Sherlock stepped closer. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Greg is going to need fabric to mend the hole and this skirt," she pulled hard, ripping again, "luckily has more than I need. Sherlock go and pick some grass."

He blinked down at her. "Me? Why?"

"Straw's just a type of dried grass, isn't it?" she demanded, eyeing the hole in Greg's chest before looking down at her own torn skirt again. "Go pick some. You heard Sally, we need to get him stuffed before the magic leaves."

Hesitating for another moment, Sherlock nodded and stepped off the yellow brick road. Pulling grass from the ground, often taking the roots and soil with it, he brought it back over and over again until he formed a small pile and Sally told him to stop. The patchwork doll had pulled out a small pair of scissors and a spool of thread from her stuffing as Molly tore off enough of her skirt fabric to make a patch.

"When you're stuffed you can't travel without your mending kit," she said, smiling weakly.

Molly smiled back at her, eyes warm. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Y-yes. Can you sew? My hands are shaking," Sally said, her entire body trembling slightly.

Nodding, Molly took the needle. Together they stuffed Greg with the wet grass, turning him so they could get the best look at him in the moonlight. In the dim light it took her a few tries to thread the needle but somehow she managed, laying the patch down over the hole in the scarecrow's chest. "He's going to look pretty silly after this," she murmured.

"Who cares? Provided he lives of course," Sherlock said, still staring down at them.

"Right," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, Molly got to work. Holding the patch in place she made the first stitch. "Cut," she ordered after tying it closed.

Sally jumped and looked alarmed, brow furrowing in confusion. Before she could protest or ask why, Sherlock pushed her aside and knelt on the yellow brick road, taking the scissors. Leaning in he snipped the tread. Continuing on, Molly carefully placed each square suture telling Sherlock when to cut after each one. They worked quickly and efficiently together under the bright moonlight, their gazes locked on the prone body of the scarecrow.

"What stitch is that? I've never seen that one before," Sally finally asked, breaking the silence.

Faltering, Molly hesitated and nearly dropped the needle. "Ah, it's a horizontal mattress stitch. I-I'm sorry. I was using it out of habit since it's what I typically use to close my cadavers. Is it wrong?"

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "Keep going. You've almost closed him up."

She looked to Sally who nodded in agreement before continuing. The needle had to be rethreaded with more, but soon enough the patch was on and Greg was whole again. Sitting back, Molly wiped the sweat from her brow and looked at the two Ozians. "Now what? Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know," Sally said quietly. "I suppose we're just going to have to wait and see if he gets back up."

With nothing more to be done, Molly returned the mending supplies and shakily got to her feet. The forest behind them was still burning though the smoke at least was blowing in the other direction now. She wondered if Toby had managed to safely get away. Crossing her arms she gazed back at it and tried not to cry. This was all her fault. Moriarty was after her and he wasn't going to let her get away. She should have returned the ruby slippers to him when she had the chance. If she had he wouldn't have hurt Greg, wouldn't have burnt the forest down, wouldn't have burned Sally and Sherlock's homes…

"Shut up," Sherlock said directly behind her. Jumping, Molly whirled about, she hadn't heard him approach. Glowering at her, he looked past her to the burning forest. "You're thinking too loud."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "This is all my fault-"

"No," came the blunt reply. "All of this is Moriarty's fault. Did you set the forest aflame? No. Did you try to kill the scarecrow? No. Ergo, none of this is your fault and you need to stop thinking that it is. It is so loud its giving me a headache."

"I stole the ruby slippers though," Molly whispered, glancing down at her feet.

Sherlock's gaze drifted down to the sparkling shoes and his face went blank. After a moment he shook his head ever so slightly and met her eyes. "Is she really dead then?"

Molly swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes. It was an accident though."

Eyes raking her, Sherlock tilted his head to one side. She waited for his decision, her mind racing. Sally had said there had been something between the tin man and the Wicked Witch of the East. Would be blame her for Irene's death? What would she do if he did? After a moment Sherlock finally nodded. "I believe you."

Her shoulders sank. "Thank you," she whispered, voice soft. "Everybody acts as if I were some great witch slayer when I was just a passenger. It could have happened to anyone."

"Yet it happened to you," he mused, eyes going back out towards the fire. "All in all, it was probably a good thing the tornado took your flat. I don't suppose that just anyone would bring a scarecrow along with them or take the time to free a rusted tin man."

"I guess so," Molly said, her lips twisting into a frown. "I would hope that if this happened to someone else they would have done the same though."

"Hopes and actions are two separate things. You rescued me from rusting and you did your best to save the scarecrow's life. We owe you," Sherlock said. Turning back to her, he smiled. "While I still contest that I am in need of a heart I will escort you to the Emerald City. After all, it's the only way to ensure that you actually get there. If you follow the scarecrow's directions you're bound to get lost."

She smiled at him and as she smiled the sky rapidly began to lighten. Like a roaring comet the sky rose into the air, quickly banishing the sunrise to lift high in the sky. Blinking away the sudden light, Molly turned and began to grin as Greg groaned loudly. "What happened?" the scarecrow asked, rubbing his face with one hand.

"You're alive!" Sally gasped and threw herself upon him. Laughing hard she hugged the straw man tightly, the two of them rolling along the yellow brick road as the both of them laughed.

Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at Molly. "I'm giving the lot of you an hour to rest and then we're off. If there's a Wicked Warlock after us we'd best be on our way and get to the Emerald City as soon as possible."

An hour? She'd not slept the night before but for some reason Molly didn't feel all that tired either. Glancing down at scorched clothing, Molly tried to smooth out the worst of the mess – which was impossible considering the amount of fabric she'd ripped from the skirt – and nodded. "You're right. We'd best be on our way as soon as possible. We're off to see the Wizard, after all. It's the Emerald City or bust."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned above, Sally is inspired by Scraps the Patchwork Girl who first appeared in the Baum book _The Patchwork Girl of Oz_. The daughter of the rainbow jab from Sherlock is a reference to Polychrome the daughter of the rainbow who first appeared in the Baum book _The Road to Oz_. Polychrome is one of a few true fairy characters who appear in the Oz books and is, as the name suggests, the daughter of the rainbow. The Woggle-Bug is a reference to Mister H.M. Woggle-Bug T.E (Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated) who first showed up in the Baum Oz book _The Marvelous Land of Oz_. As the name would suggest he is a giant Woggle-Bug which is frankly terrifying. And no, I have no idea what a Woggle-Bug is. The illustrations are enough to frighten me though. He ends up founding what seems to be Oz's only university, the Royal College of Art and Athletic Perfection.
> 
> The dial that changes day into night was taken from the modern Oz books _Dorothy Must Die_ by Danielle Paige. I'm ninety percent sure she got that detail from an Oz book since it seems a little familiar, but for the life of me I can't remember which one. I have a feeling it's a throw away line mentioned in one of the books about Ozma (which we'll get to later) but I don't know which one. The detail about the Wicked Witch of the East turning people into objects is also from another Oz book that I can't recall though in the book it may have been Mombi, the Wicked Witch of the North who was going around transforming people. It shows up in the webcomic _Namesake_ though which is both excellent and spends a lot of time in Oz!
> 
> Various lines were, of course, lifted from both the original _Wizard of Oz_ movie as well as from the show Sherlock. I also blatantly included one of the lyrics from the musical _Wicked_ as well.
> 
> I think that's everything for this chapter and the previous ones. If you think I've forgotten something send me a message and I'll try to properly credit it next time! Thanks for reading!


	6. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If they only had the nerve, they might already be in the Emerald City...

Leaving the burned out copse of trees behind them, the small party continued down the yellow brick road. While Molly kept an eye out for her little cat her heart sank with every step. There hadn't been a single sign of Toby since she'd last seen him fleeing Moriarty's fire and as she walked, the realization that her poor cat may not have been able to escape the flames weighed her down. Her only hope was that Mary's spell was still working and that her cat, if he was alright, was trying to follow.

With the loss of her house, Sally seemed far quieter then she had been before. She and Greg trailed behind Molly and Sherlock, staying within eyesight of the other two but hanging far enough back that they could chat without being overheard. Wondering if Sally was going to go with them to the Emerald City to see the Wizard, Molly nearly crashed into Sherlock's back as he suddenly came to a halt. She yelped, banging her hand against his tin back before she could stop fully. Eyebrow raised, Sherlock glanced back at her and gave her a dirty look. Apparently he didn't find her clumsiness endearing.

In front of them the yellow brick road had split again, one path leading off towards a sunny meadow where birds were chirping and butterflies danced between the flowers. The other one lead into a deep and twisted looking forest, steam hovering between the twisted trees and grass growing up between the broken yellow bricks of the road. There was no question of which path they were taking.

"Right," Sherlock said, turning around and waiting for Sally and Greg to catch up. "I'm afraid that this is where we say our goodbyes. Unless you're planning on visiting the Wizard of Oz as well, we'll be taking separate paths from here on out Sally."

Molly frowned, her brow furrowing. "We can't let Sally go off on her own, Sherlock. The path looks too dangerous for someone to travel on their own."

Everyone stared at her, the tin man's eyebrow raising. "Dangerous?" Sherlock said slowly, looking at her as if she were a bigger moron then the one with no brain. "How, pray tell, is Sally's path dangerous?"

"Just look at it!" Molly said, gesturing towards the trees. "It looks awful."

Sherlock's other eyebrow raised and even Greg looked puzzled. If anything, Sally looked as if she were about to laugh, covering her painted mouth with a raggedy hand. "Ah," Sherlock said, eyebrows going back down. "There's no need to fear then. Sally shall not be heading in that direction."

She blinked, a cold tingle running down her spine. "You mean-?"

"Yes. That's the direction we shall be going."

Gaze darting to the dark and twisted trees, Molly felt her face go pale as all of her blood rushed to her feet. "No way, Sherlock. I've seen enough horror movies to know how this is going to go," she said, shaking her head rapidly enough to shake her braid.

"Horror movies?"

"Yes, we'll go into the woods and everything will seem fine and then one by one we'll be separated and hunted down by a ruthless serial killer wielding a chainsaw." She shook her head again, stomping a ruby slipper clad foot. "Nope. Not happening. We should take the nice and safe looking path with Sally."

Greg looked confused. "What's a chainsaw?" he asked Sally. She shrugged.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "That path is perfectly safe. Besides, we need to get to the Wizard at once, remember? You were in a rush?"

"No one's in that big of a rush."

"That path takes a detour all the way down to Quadling Country and will add a full two weeks to our journey," Sherlock said, tin eyebrows furrowing. "Do you really want to travel an additional two weeks on this sorry excuse for a road trip? While Moriarty, the Wicked Warlock of the West, is still following us?"

She sighed and shook her head. "No."

"Then we're taking that path," Sherlock said firmly. "Sally?"

"Not a chance. I'll go to Quadling Country and hope this mess blows over," Sally said, edging her way towards the safer looking path. She turned to go then paused, turning back. "I really want to thank you," she said to Molly. "You may have gotten my house burned down, but thank you for dragging me out of there. I would be a pile of ashes if it weren't for you."

Molly blushed. "I… You're welcome," she murmured, ears turning pink. Really, she didn't deserve Sally's thanks. If it hadn't been for her, Sally would never have been in danger in the first place.

"Strawman, once you get that brain of yours come look me up," Sally said, smiling at Greg.

Grinning, Greg swept his bobby hat off his head and bowed to the patchwork doll so lowly he nearly planted his face into the bricks of yellow. "Undubidubibitty m'lady."

"Indubitably," Sherlock corrected, his eyes going skyward. "If you cannot manage it, don't even try."

"And you!" Sally said, whirling on Sherlock. She stepped forward and thumped on his tin chest, painted face scrunched up into a scowl. It echoed as she thumped a second time. "Get a heart you freak!"

"I don't need one," Sherlock sighed. "Goodbye Sally. I shall not miss you in the least and am actually rather looking forward to your imminent departure."

Sally made what had to be the Ozian equivalent of a very rude gesture at Sherlock then began to walk off. They shouted goodbyes at each other, Sally turning back to wave, until she turned her attention to the sweet looking meadow lined path.

"Shall we then?" Sherlock asked, feet echoing as he began to walk towards the twisting trees.

Casting a final longing look behind her, Molly sighed. "Are you certain this path is safe?"

Rolling his tin eyes again, Sherlock's chest heaved in the pantomime of a sigh. "Yes, of course it is. Why must you keep asking me that?"

"It does look rather scary," Greg said, tearing his eyes away from Sally's retreating form. "Are you sure that there's nothing in there that would like to eat straw?"

"You mean like a horse or a cow?" Sherlock asked, his voice a deadpan. "Get walking. The sooner we enter the forest the sooner we'll be through it and leave it behind."

"It's just that-"

"Walk."

With Sherlock in the lead the small group fell into silence as they walked down the yellow brick road. The tin man seemed rather annoyed by their concerns, stomping ahead headless of the broken bricks and grass growing through while Molly and Greg followed behind gingerly picking out a more cautious path. The very last thing Molly needed was to turn her ankle by accidentally stepping into a hole where a yellow brick was missing. Considering the mood Sherlock was in, the tin man would likely self-combust in his annoyance. It was kind of Greg to hang back with her, occasionally offering a hand over the worst spots and otherwise keeping close as they both looked wearily into the forest.

The forest was unlike anything Molly had seen before, reminding her of every scary fairytale she'd read growing up. Instead of the bright and friendly looking parks she saw in London, this forest was dark and twisted. The very trees themselves were wolfy, the branches turning this way and that to reach the sun and the trunks leaning precariously over the yellow brick road. Several trees had fallen and had to be clamored over carefully, Sherlock struggling to make his tin joints reach while Molly spent ages helping Greg unsnag himself. The blue checked patch looked silly and out of place on the strawman's chest, but he didn't seem to mind it in the least, smiling at Molly and thanking her as she helped him through.

The further they traveled down the yellow brick road, the darker the forest began to get and the taller the trees. Now so tall she couldn't even see their tops, Molly pressed closer to Greg. The underbrush around them was thick, scraggly looking bushes and small trees pressed close to the edges of the yellow brick road, making it impossible to see very far into the forest. She shivered as a bush shook, the sound of a bird screaming making her jump.

"Sh-Sherlock," she said, looking at the tin man who was still leading the way. "Are you absolutely certain this path is safe? I-I mean for me. Not for a man made out of metal."

Sherlock clomped a step then paused, coming to a stand-still. "Oh damn," he murmured. It did not fill her with confidence at all. Turning he regarded her carefully and sighed. "It's always something."

Reaching over, Greg grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She was thankful for it as it meant she didn't have to do the same. "W-What did you miss?"

"You're made of meat," Sherlock said with a frown. "There's nothing in here that would be interested in straw or metal, but tender flesh…"

As if on cue a bush shook hard and both she and Greg jumped, hurrying closer to the tin man. "Like what!?" she demanded, making sure she was solidly in between the metal and straw man.

Waving his hand vaguely, Sherlock shrugged. "You know the usual. Lions and tigers and that sort."

"Lions and tigers!?" she demanded, eyes going wide.

"And dickbears!" Greg added with a gasp. "Oh my!"

"Lions and tigers and dickbears," Sherlock repeated, tilting his head to one side. "Sounds about right."

The sudden and almost overwhelming urge to strangle Sherlock washed over her. Logically she knew it wouldn't do her any good, as Sherlock was her guide and made out of metal, but at the same time she knew that it would feel oh so good to try. Before she could though the bushes next to them shook hard, leaves trembling with much more violence then a breeze could make. With a yelp Greg grabbed her shoulders and thrust Molly behind him, Sherlock stepping forward and spreading his arms wide as the two men stood between her tender meat body and whatever danger was lurking. Shaking hard the bush trembled and then the leaves parted.

"Meow?" Toby said, stepping out of the foliage. He blinked up at the small party and sat, purring gently as he began to lick his paw.

"Toby!" Molly gasped, pushing aside the other two to scoop up her pet. Her cat meowed again, sounding annoyed by the bathing interruption as she checked him over carefully. His fur was a bit dirty and ruffled but there wasn't an injury or scorch mark on him. "Oh Toby you're alright!"

Greg grinned, casting an arm around Sherlock and grinning at him. "So which one is that?" he asked. "The lion or the tiger?"

"Oh do shut up."

Feeling brighter, Molly cuddled Toby close and beamed. Turning towards her travelling companions she paused as she noticed a pair of golden eyes glowering at her from the bushes. Eyes going wide she gasped and prepared to scream only for a huge golden creature to burst from the bushes and knock her to the ground.

There was a gut clenching hiss and snarl and then her head hit the yellow bricks. Toby burst from her grip as Sherlock and Greg let out a yell, the great golden beast hunching over her and roaring. Dazed, her ears ringing, Molly looked up confused at the sandy coloured fur, her mind a fog. What had happened?

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Greg was wailing, his feet shuffling on the yellow bricks as he tried to figure out if he should run or throw himself on the beast. "It's a dickbear! A dickbear!"

"You idiot, it's a lion," Sherlock snapped, not taking his gaze off the snarling beast. Standing stock still he eyed the situation carefully, eyes darting from the barely stirring woman to the huge creature standing above her. "Molly, stay perfectly still."

Mind still foggy, Molly frowned and continued to wonder where all of this fur had suddenly come from. "Wha-?"

"You've been attacked by a lion," Sherlock said, voice utterly calm. "Now do as I say and stay still. If you move you may entice it to damage you further and-"

 _LION!_ Molly's mind screamed. Gasping, her mind suddenly fell into an incredible focus as she suddenly realized what exactly was on top of her. Screaming, she flailed and all her self-defense training – well, the one half-hour class she'd taken with Meena since it was offered for free at Barts – kicked in. Grabbing the lion's front haunches she surged up and kneed the lion right in the groin.

The lion let out a choked gasp and went limp. Shoving it off of her, Molly scrambled back only to be hauled up by Sherlock's strong grip. He held her close, shoving her behind him as the lion rocked on the ground, paws reaching for his nads in a strangely human gesture. "Well, that's one way of getting you free," the tin man murmured, backing them slowly away.

Snarling, the lion unfolded himself and gingerly backed up. His bright golden eyes narrowed as he glowered at the trio but he made no move to attack. Instead the great beast took a step back before its eyes alighted on Toby who was sitting on the edge of the yellow brick road and licking himself. With a snarl that sounded almost like a laugh the lion moved to pounce.

"No!" Molly shouted. Shoving Sherlock out of her way she picked up a fallen branch and ran towards the lion and her pet. "Leave Toby alone!" she yelled, swinging the branch back.

To her surprise the lion cowered. It threw a massive arm up and shook, tail curling between its legs. "N-No!" it gasped. Tears began to stream from its eyes. "Please don't hurt me!"

Molly paused and blinked. Slowly she lowered the branch, taking a step forward. "You can talk?" she asked, frowning.

"This is Oz," Sherlock said, coming up behind her and gently edging in front of her again. "It's sometimes quicker to make a list of the things that can't talk."

"Like poop!" Greg added helpfully.

They all gave the straw man a look for that before turning their attention back to the cowering lion. "Why did you attack me?" Molly demanded, still holding the branch tight. "A-And Toby! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"I can't!" the lion wailed, still shuddering on the ground. "I'm nothing but a coward… Ever since the war I can't sleep and everything frightens me."

She blinked. "The war?"

"General Anthea who marched upon the Emerald City with her army and used their sharpened knitting needles to defeat the Wizard's guard and pick out all the emeralds," Sherlock said. "The Wizard ended up turning her to his side though and now she's employed as the head of his armies."

"It was awful!" the lion sniffled. "I was pricked so many times by so many needles. It even gave me a limp!"

"Psychosomatic," Sherlock scoffed.

"None of the other animals understood," the lion continued, looking miserable. "I haven't been the same since I returned home though. I keep getting flashbacks to all of those horrid needles and those terrible times and now even a mouse can frighten me! I thought that if I were able to, you know, work my way back up I could become brave again. No one wants a cowardly lion about."

Molly finally lowered the branch, regarding the lion carefully. "It sounds like you have PTSD," she said kindly. Everyone looked at her confused. "So you attacked Toby and I because you wanted to no longer be a coward?"

"I didn't bite you! I didn't!" the lion said earnestly. "I wasn't going to hurt you, I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it again. Be tough."

Sighed, Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well it was a bad plan. There are other ways to treat your condition you know."

"Yes!" Greg said. "Like magic! We're off to see the Wizard and I'm sure he could fix your problem too."

"Really?" the lion asked eagerly.

"No, no," Molly said, trying to interrupt the two. "I was talking about therapy and perhaps medication. PTSD is a real condition that needs treatment and-"

"Do you really think the Wizard could help me?" the lion asked, getting to his feet.

"Of course he could!" Greg said, ignoring Molly's protests completely. "I'm going to ask the Wizard for a brain and Sherlock is going to ask for a heart-"

"No I'm not."

"-and Molly is going to ask for a way to go back to London! I'm sure that some courage would be easy for a gent like the Wizard to magic up."

"You'd really let me join you to see the Wizard?" the lion asked, grabbing hold of his own tail. He clutched it tight, looking bashful as he stood before them. "Even though I was so mean to you?"

"Of course you can come!" Greg said, beaming. "The more the merrier!"

"Well, actually, I really do think you should try therapy first," Molly said firmly. "There's no guarantee that magic can cure a psychiatric disorder and you really should try and seek medical treatment first. I really don't want to get your hopes up and then find out that the Wizard can't help you."

"You guys are the best," the lion said, grinning at them. "Come on, let's go see the Wizard!"

Molly sighed deeply as the scarecrow and lion linked arms and began to walk down the yellow brick road, Toby trotting behind them. "Now you know how I feel," Sherlock said, leaning over. "Morons. An entire land completely full to bursting with them."

"Do you really think the Wizard can help him?" she asked, tossing the branch into the bushes.

The tin man shrugged. "Who knows? You're already counting on him to help you return home and get the scarecrow a brain though so I suppose that asking for courage really won't be all that much more of a stretch. Which reminds me, WRONG WAY!" he shouted at the retreating pair. Greg and the lion staggered and turned, quickly heading back towards them. He looked down at Molly and smiled slightly. "With the Wizard it's all about what price he demands for his services."

"You seem to know a lot about the Wizard," Molly said, frowning a little as she looked up at him. "Have you met him before?"

"The Wizard?" Sherlock said, frowning. His tin lip twisted a little as he shook his head. "No. I've never met the Wizard of Oz."

She nodded, smiling as Greg and the lion rejoined them. While she didn't know if the Wizard could actually help them with any of their problems it wouldn't do to let Greg or the lion know any of her worries. Taking Greg's other arm and Sherlock's she smiled as they walked down the yellow brick road, arm-in-arm. Laughing she even skipped a step, kicking her feet up and for a moment feeling light.

A thought struck her though and she looked around Greg to look at the lion. "I don't suppose you have a proper name?" she asked, smiling at him. "Or should I keep calling you Lion?"

"Me? My name is John," the lion said, smiling back.

Her smile faltered for a moment as the strange familiarity struck her once more but she changed that into a beam as John started to look worried. "Nice to meet you, John. Now come on, let's go see the Wizard. That wonderful wizard of Oz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Anthea is a reference to General Jinjur from the Baum Oz book _The Marvelous Land of Oz._ She really does lead an all-female army to the Emerald city and defeat them with their knitting needles. Jinjur also forces all the men to do all the women's work until she's defeated by Glinda and her own all-woman army. She's a bit of a parody of the woman's suffrage movement (which Baum was a supporter of) but unlike Anthea after Jinjur is defeated she becomes a dairy maid and moves back in with her husband.
> 
> More Oz things I forgot to mention! Way back in chapter 2, the hard partying Munchkins are based on rumors about what the little people actors got up to in Hollywood. It's really hard to determine what actually happened, but the rumors are amazing. According to some sources there was drinking, smoking, fighting, orgies, the whole nine yards to the point that the police had to be called every night to stand guard at the hotel the Munchkin actors were staying at to keep the peace.
> 
> However, the accuracy of these rumors have been called into question. While Judy Garland herself was one of the main spreaders of the tales, the few surviving little people who were in the Wizard of Oz have said that none of the above happened. In all likelihood the rest of the movie cast and staff were probably just surprised that the little people were acting like fully functioning adults rather than the children a lot of them were treated as. The rumors were too good to pass up though so our not politically correct Munchkins are the hard partying type in this fic.
> 
> From chapter two again, you'll notice I said that Mary is the Good Witch of the North and appears in Glinda's outfit. I only did this to agree with the movie since I figured most people would be familiar with that and in the film Glinda is the Good Witch of the North. In the books of course she's the Good Witch of the South. Strangely enough, the books have the Witch of the North show up to greet Dorothy after she arrives in Oz, but she never gives her name. Which was probably a good thing as later on in the novels her name later turns out to be Locasta Tattypoo. It's no wonder the film went with Glinda instead.
> 
> In the last chapter I forgot to mention where I got the Deadly Desert from. According to all the maps Oz is a remarkably square country that's surrounded by all sides by a desert. It lives up to the name the Deadly Desert too since apparently just touching the sand is enough to kill a person. You need magic or a hot air balloon to travel across it.


	7. Poppy Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN- A LOT has happened since the last time I updated. I defended my thesis and graduated with my Master's, I got a job, and I moved across the country (and way, way, WAY north) to Alaska! There were some serious bumps along the way and my parents are still being forced to watch my asshole cats for me, but at least I'm finding the time to write again and I've finally gotten internet access! Anyway, everyone please enjoy! Notes on my OZ references are at the bottom like usual.

Sprawled over his throne of iron, the Wicked Warlock of the West surveyed the crystal ball before him with a frown. "She's nearly made it to the Emerald City. How has she already nearly made it to the Emerald City?"

The tall and formidable Winkie man at his shoulder leaned forward to gaze into the crystal ball, reaching up to adjust his glasses before straightening back up. His green face frowned out from under the grey fur of his large hat. This was CAM, Winkie general and the only person that had willingly gone into the Wicked Warlock of the West's service. Rumour had it had been CAM himself who had invited the warlock to invade Winkieland, granting the man a detailed plan of invasion. Considering it had worked, the opposition slaughtered and the castle taken with ease, with Moriarty promoting CAM to the head of his intelligence network, no one was willing to question the fearsome and odd man to find out if the rumours were true.

Clearing his throat, CAM removed the spectacles from his nose and carefully cleaned them as he gazed at Moriarty. "I've been analyzing her movements and I do believe the reason for her ongoing success lies within her companions."

Rolling his eyes dramatically Moriarty scowled at the green faced general. "Noooo. Really?" he asked, voice dripping sarcasm.

CAM turned and nodded to him, the movement almost a little bow as he clicked his back heels together. "Yes. My analysis would indicate-"

"SHUT UP!" Moriarty roared, leaping to his feet. He stalked towards the crystal ball as Moran and CAM fell back, wary of their lord when he was in such a mood. "She should never have made it this far," he growled. "She should have been devoured by wild animals in the woods, not joined by that stupid lion. Sherlock should have failed to protect her, he should never have joined their little party. This nonsense has to end. I want those shoes!"

Moran stepped forward, bare furry feet slapping on the floor. The flying monkey rubbed at his rounded chin and stretched his shoulders, furred wings fluttering. As the head of Moriarty's security, another willing servant, and the chief of his armed forces, the monkey grinned showing a mouth full of fangs. He bounced on his feet, gesturing wildly towards the crystal ball. "Shall I organize a team and fetch them for you sire?" the winged monkey asked. His dark eyed gaze turned dangerous as he grinned at the image in the ball, fangs flashing. "I assure you that I will return with the shoes, with or without that human woman attached."

"When she's this close to that humbug of a Wizard?" Moriarty drawled. "No, we're going to have to be clever about this or else have to deal with OZ the 'great' and 'powerful!'" He cackled for a moment before flopping back into the throne, eyeing the crystal ball with a dark look on his face. "Oh, Sherlock. What are we going to do about you helping that poor little girl? We're going to have to find a way to slow them down so that we can gather them up at our leisure. A direct assault will only put that Wizard on the defensive and we'll never get her then."

Cam peered at the crystal ball, turning his head one way then the other. "I have a suggestion then Sire. The group is rapidly approaching the poppy field. Janine is still there."

"Janine?" Moriarty repeated, turning his attention to the crystal ball of course. A shark's grin lit up his face as he chuckled lowly. "Of course. Something sweet yet deadly to turn their path and lead Sherlock astray. It's perfect. Poppies, poppies…"

-xOx-

"So can you tell me more about Oz?"

The question cut through the birdsong and burst out of Molly's chest before she knew it. The tin man, Sherlock, looked at her and she flushed, looking away. She'd been thinking the question for quite some time, with the stationary sun it was difficult to tell exactly how long it had been, but she hadn't intended to ask it. Somehow it felt strange, perhaps a bit rude to question her new companions on their world. As if they would be called into question as well to explain away the oddness of it all.

And there was no question about it. Oz was weird. Absolutely bizarre.

If talking trees, animals, and men made of tin weren't strange enough they'd also been accosted by a white rabbit with a pocket watch and a pair of playing cards looking for red paint which was just plain wrong. That was Wonderland stuff.

Sherlock continued to look at her then glanced towards the scarecrow and lion, Greg and John, who were leading the way down the road of yellow bricks. "Do you want to know anything in particular or was that a plea for a more general source of knowledge?" he asked, voice as pleasant as she'd heard from him.

Molly looked over at him, biting her lip. He didn't seem annoyed by her question. Why wasn't he annoyed? Everything else so far had annoyed him.

A tin lip twisted and Molly flushed harder realizing she'd asked that question aloud as well. Eyes narrowed at her as Sherlock regarded her more closely. "The pursuit of knowledge is something I would never discourage. Considering that you're a recent arrival in our land I would assume that you have many questions. Ask."

"Alright," Molly said and took a breath. "Who's the Wizard? Can he really solve all our problems? How did you get cursed? Did getting all your parts cut off hurt? Did you really date the Wicked Witch of the East?"

Sherlock blinked at the sudden stream of questions and the tin man actually looked a bit taken aback. "So you do have many questions," he mused. Thinking for a moment he shrugged. "The Wizard is a humbug. He arrived in Oz many years ago shortly after the mysterious disappearance of the true ruler of Oz, the infant princess Ozma. As his balloon coincidentally had the initials O.Z. printed upon it the townspeople took stock of his 'mighty' powers and bade him take up the mantle of Wizard. Or so the official story goes."

She frowned but managed to keep walking. "The Wizard's a humbug? As in-"

"As in a deceiver or bringer of false truths, he's not actually a giant insect," Sherlock assured her. "He'd be even more terrifying beyond all reason if he was. As for whether or not he can aid you in your quest, I must admit that I don't know. The Wizard has a great many connections and he may be able to aid you, but he's certainly not magic."

Molly's shoulders sank as she looked towards John and Greg. "So he wouldn't be able to help Greg get his brains or John regain his courage."

Sherlock shrugged, metal shrieking a little as he did so. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. To answer your other questions I was cursed by Moriarty, yes getting my fleshy bits cuts off hurt a great deal and having them replaced with tin hurt a great deal more, and yes I did see Irene frequently in a rather intimate setting."

Her lips were suddenly dry and her eyes wet. That was strange. Not right at all. Why was she suddenly so upset? It wasn't as if she and the tin man were, well, anything. She didn't even like him! She liked… someone else? She couldn't rightly remember which was strange enough really. Blinking rapidly Molly looked away, wetting her lips tried to get control of herself again. "Oh," she whispered. "I'm very sorry I dropped my flat on her then."

Sherlock shook his head, frowning a little. "It's not your fault. Irene and I parted a very long time ago. She became someone I no longer recognized nor cared to know. Killing her, accident though it may have been, was surely the best end for her."

They walked in silence for a long moment, Molly racking her brain for something to say. While Sherlock didn't seem to blame her for Irene's death there had to be a way to assure him of how sorry she was. To make him see that she wasn't the sort who went dropping the top floor of buildings on people, tornado or no, and that she was so, so-

"We've made it!" John shouted from up ahead. The lion leaped and hollered, waving his front paws in the air as he whooped loudly. "The Emerald City!"

Molly and Sherlock glanced at each other and hurried forward, coming around the last bend and stepping into the sunlight. Blinking the light out of her eyes, Molly shaded her gaze and gasped loudly her eyes going wide. The Emerald City- it was… it was magnificent. The city shone and sparkled in the bright sunlight, reflecting every shade of emerald imaginable. The grand skyscrapers and magnificent ferris wheel looked somehow nearly familiar though. She frowned, staring at it as the city's grand clock tower began to chime in a familiar way. For a moment her vision swam and she felt faint as her mind raced, trying to determine why the city looked so familiar but there was no way she could have seen such a sight before. Where could she have ever seen such a town of green before?

There was a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly as it supported her and kept her from collapsing? "Molly?" she heard Sherlock's voice call but for some reason it sounded far farther away. "Molly?" She blinked and the voice corrected itself with Sherlock, Greg, and John peering at her with varying looks of concern upon their faces. "Are you quite alright?"

She nodded, stepping away from Sherlock and shaking herself back into awareness. "Y-yes. I'm fine. Sorry, I just felt a little faint for a moment. I must be more tired than I thought."

"It has been quite awhile since we stopped," Greg said, his painted face frowning as much was possible for him. "I'm sorry Molly, but I hadn't even noticed. Being made of straw I don't get tired like you do. Maybe we should take a break?"

"And I've found myself plenty hungry since I met you," John added, rubbing his belly. "It's far past tea time, nearly time for dinner even. If I'm hungry then a little thing like you must be starving. I could see about catching us a- catching us a- rab-r-r-r-r-r-r-" The lion started to go pale, form trembling as he thought of critters both small and furry.

Molly shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Besides, we're almost to the Emerald City. We can rest once we get there."

"Agreed," Sherlock said with a nod. "In the Emerald City we'll be beyond the power of Moriarty and his minions. We're not safe here."

"Then it's settled. We'll keep going," Molly said with a nod.

Frowning, Greg cast his eyes out over the twisting road of yellow brick that led far off to the right, skirting the forest, then at the field of bright red flowers that laid between them and the Emerald City. "Can we at least take that shortcut there?" he asked, gesturing towards the flower field. "It'll be ever so much faster than following the yellow brick road and the Emerald City is right there."

Eyes narrowing, Sherlock gazed at the field. "No, we can't. That's a field of poppies. It would be better if we-"

"Last one there is a rotten Munchkinberry!" John shouted. Falling to all fours the lion raced down the small hill they were standing upon, crashing into the field of red poppies and sending a spray of petals up in the air. With a shout of "No fair!" Greg was running after him as well, straw filled limbs shaking all akimbo as the stuffed man chased the maned beast.

Laughing, Molly hiked up her skirts and moved to chase them. She didn't even stop to consider the fact that she was in five inch sparkling high heels she'd become so used to them. "Wait! Stop!" she heard Sherlock shout but she ignored him, nearly tumbling down the hill before she looked up at him. "Come on Sherlock!" she shouted then plunged into the field of red blooms.

The poppies were much taller than they'd seemed to be from the hill. As she ran through them, eager to catch up with the lion and scarecrow they grew taller and taller until she was running under through a maze. The scent of greenery and the poppies hung heavily in the air as she ducked between the stems. It was a sweet and somewhat heady, but she liked it. Inhaling it deeply she laughed gaily, throwing up her hands and twirling, catching hold of one of the blooms and pulling it down. The blossom was as large as a dinner plate and as she laughed and buried her nose into it a burst of pink pollen sprayed up into her face. Molly blinked and staggered, the world around her suddenly spinning as the smell of poppy overloaded all of her senses. She tripped over her own feet, barely keeping her balance as she released the poppy, realizing all of the other flowers were gently misting pink pollen over her as well.

"Oh," she breathed, grabbing stems to keep her upright as she staggered forward. Her vision swam and quite suddenly she was feeling slow and sluggish. "I don't think we should have come this way. Toby? T-Toby?"

She turned, world spinning faster and faster to find the small bundle of white fur curled around a poppy stem, his head buried in his paws. Taking the shaking steps to his side, Molly picked up the feline and peered at him, smiling loopily. "Toby you shilly fitty," she slurred. "Isnat nappytime!"

"Help! Help!" a familiar voice shouted and suddenly a man made out of patchwork burst out from between the poppy stems. Catching sight of her he ran towards Molly and caught hold of her arm, pulling her along. "Molly, thank goodness! It's John. We were racing and then all of a sudden he stopped and just fell down saying that he needed a nap. I can't wake him!"

The world spun in a comforting pink haze and Molly giggled, feeling her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. "Nap? Shounds good," she sighed and tumbled forward, Toby still in her arms.

Greg yelped and moved to catch her but a being made of straw was no match for one of flesh and blood. If anything he was a soft surface for Molly to fall on as she knocked him to the ground, already snoring gently. Trying and failing to shove the girl off of him, the straw man looked around desperately. "Help!" he shouted. "Sherlock! Help!"

"Sherlock?" a female voice purred. A dark haired beauty wearing a lilac colored dress stepped out from behind a poppy stem, her eyes dark and inviting as she sashayed towards them. In her hands she held a clear bottle with a dropper on it that she lifted to her lips, dropping a bit of liquid upon them. She moaned, twirling and giggling. "That man owes me a cottage!" she laughed.

Greg put his arms around Molly, angling himself between the sleeping girl as more women and men stepped out from behind the poppy stems. Their smiles were large, eyes lidded as they laughed amongst themselves and danced, a few collapsing together in passionate embraces before separating again. The first dark haired beauty stepped closer, her eyes on Molly and Greg pulled her closer. "Would you please help me? My friends have fallen asleep and I can't wake them," the strawman asked.

"Help them? I've already helped them," the dark haired woman said, giggling again as she dropped another bit of liquid upon her ruby red lips. "I've already helped all of you. I've granted them oblivion. Sweet, sweet silence. No more messy thoughts or nasty questions running through their heads. With me, they'll know peace. I offer everyone peace. It's what I'm here for."

"T-That's very nice," Greg said as the woman spun closer to them, the bottle still in her hand. "But you see we're on our way to the Emerald City and-"

"Why bother?" the woman asked. "Why bother going to the Emerald City? Why bother doing anything at all? With me you can sleep and dream and-" The woman paused, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of something over Greg's shoulder. "Oh!"

Sherlock stepped out from behind a thicket of poppy stems, his tin face twisted like lightning and his stomping feet echoing like thunder. He stopped short as he saw them, eyes raking across them, lingering upon the collapsed Molly and Greg, before they went to the lilac clad woman. "Janine. You have to stop this."

"Sherly!" Janine gasped and then squealed, rushing him. The scarecrow yelped out a warning but the tin man did nothing to stop the woman from throwing her arms around him. "Owch! You're hard and pokey now."

"I have been transformed into tin," Sherlock pointed out, voice dry as Janine stepped back.

The woman inspected him closely, fingers running along a seam as she frowned. "You're all shiny. You weren't nearly as shiny yesterday when you left."

"Janine, it's been years," Sherlock said, removing her hands from her and gently pushing her away. "It's the poppies, they've been muddling your thoughts just as they did mine. You've lost years, Janine. Decades perhaps. Oblivion isn't worth it, you have to leave."

"Leave?" Janine repeated, her eyes doey and confused. She looked to the others who were milling about, laughing and drunkenly wandering off, their faces slack and peaceful. "Where would I go?" Her expression darkened. "Back to CAM? I told you that I'm never going there again. You can't make me!"

"I wasn't going to-"

Abruptly Janine laughed and cooing, raced after a butterfly that was struggling to flap along. Its wings were laden with pink pollen as it flapped mightily, surging this way and that and steadily sinking towards the ground. Giggling Janine raced after it, clapping as the butterfly sank, exhausted, to the ground its wings fluttering as it tried to rise to the air once more. Sherlock sighed, rubbing his brow as Janine knelt next to the insect, poking at it and trying to encourage it to take wing once more. Crossing over to Greg and Molly, Sherlock bent over them, lifting Molly enough so that the scarecrow could slide out from under her.

"She won't wake up! John's the same way," Greg said, looking down at the woman worriedly. "What do we do? How do we wake them?"

"We don't," Sherlock said flatly. "This is the poppy field, it's Janine's realm and by that extension, under the control of CAM. Only one person has ever escaped."

"Really?" Greg asked, painted eyes wide. "Who?"

"Me."

"Oh. How did you manage that?"

Sherlock smirked, striking his own chest and letting the ring of metal on metal echo through the poppy stems. "I had myself transformed into tin until the cravings went away," he said shortly. "Oblivion is a… It's a powerful draw and a dangerous game to play."

"Oh Sherly, you silly fool," Janine said with a giggle. As they turned to regard her she was pinning a pair of pink butterfly wings into her dark wavy hair, the insect a smear on the dirt. "Oblivion is a gift. One I share freely with all. You can have it again if you want. I'll gladly give it to you just like I gave it to all the others and then you'll be so free. You can be happy! So, so happy."

Sherlock stood frozen, his eyes wide. Slowly he shook his head. "No. Janine, let us go. We have to go. We have an appointment to see the Wizard."

"The Wizard? How boring. I'd rather you stay with me," Janine said, stomping a small white foot. "You will stay with me! We'll be happy, you'll see! I'll make you all stay with me forever, you'll see."

Greg cowered near the ground, clutching Molly as close as his straw arms would allow. Brow set and determined he scowled up at the beautiful woman. "Not if we can help it," he said and raised his voice. "HELP! HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP US!"

Janine blinked as Sherlock sighed. "Stop it, Gavin. That won't help us," Sherlock snapped but the scarecrow kept screaming for help, body curled around Molly's as if that would help shield her from the pink pollen that continued to mist down.

"What is he doing?" Janine asked, brow furrowing. She folded her arms as a breeze flowed through the poppies, bringing a slight chill to the air. Pouting peevishly she tilted her head to one side. "Doesn't he want my gift?"

"He's made of straw. He's immune like me," Sherlock said. Something white flashed in the air and the tin man frowned, gaze traveling upward. "What on-"

White flakes swirled down glinting in the sunlight and falling faster than the pollen. Letting out a little gasp, already lightly coated in white, Janine gazed up, eyes wide. "What? Snow!?"

The flakes fell more rapidly, the ground and everything around them becoming coated as the Oblivion chasers milled about and muttered nervously. Janine's face twisted in distaste as the air began to clear, the poppies wilting as the cold sunk into them and cut off the pollen supply. She sneezed dramatically, shivering as she glares at the white flakes. "I hate snow! I feel…. It's making me feel…." She shivered again, eyes going wide before she caught ahold of herself. "Everyone, let's go! It's cold here and I don't want to stay."

Seeming to think that this was a good idea the followers melted away into the swaying poppy stems as Janine picked her way across the ground, trying to avoid as much snow as possible. She glanced back at them, snow tangled in her dark hair as she caught Sherlock's gaze. "You know where to find me when you don't want to feel anything," she said.

The tin man nodded, the movement stiff as the snow continued to fall upon him. "I know."

With a little nod Janine hurried away, vanishing like the others between the poppy stems and leaving them alone in the little clearing.

"This wasn't what I wanted," Greg said miserably as the snow began to drift around them. "We've saved Molly and John from that woman but snow? They'll surely freeze."

"Then get them out," Sherlock said, the words halting. He moved to lift his arm only for it to freeze half way and stick there. He struggled for a moment before looking to the scarecrow. "Now. Hurry. Use the poppy stems to make a litter and drag them out. Molly….. Molly first…. The lion….. fur….." He fell silent, mouth rusting shut. Greg let out a cry, racing over to him as the tin man's eyes darted about for a moment before rusting in place as well.

"No, no, no!" Greg protested, tumbling as he circled the metal man. "You can't rust, not now! I'm not smart enough to fix this! I don't know what to do! I haven't a brain!"

With a mighty yawn, John staggered into the clearing. "What happened?" he asked and yawned once more. "Is it time for breakfast?"

"Lion!" Greg cheered. He practically leapt across the field, throwing his arms around the hairy beast. "You woke up!"

Molly yawned and stirred, sitting up as she stretched. "Am I back in London now?" she asked sleepily, eyes blinking. Catching sight of the scarecrow and lion she sighed. "Damn. Guess not."

"MOLLY!" Greg shouted and tackled her to the ground from the force of his hug. "You woke up too! It must be the snow. It's getting rid of the pollen in the air! You're free of Oblivion!"

"Oblivion?" Molly repeated, rubbing her eyes. She struggled to her feet, not aided by the scarecrow who was still hanging off of her nor the still yawning lion. Her eyes traveled the clearing as she shivered at the snow before she caught sight of the tin man. "Sherlock! He's rusted in place again."

"It's the snow," Greg said, tumbling off her to the ground. "It stopped the pollen but it stopped the tin man too. What do we do?"

"Unrust him of course," Molly said. She patted down her pockets as the snow began to thin then ceased to fall. Finding the bottle of pepper spray she shoved that back down deep into her dress pockets before pulling out the oil can. "Here, help me get his arms."

-xOx-

The crystal ball shattered upon the stone flagstones as Moriarty let out a scream of rage. All around the castle the flying monkeys shrieked and took flight, the Winkies cowering at their posts, as the Wicked Warlock of the West cursed and raged. "Who was it!?" he screamed, rounding on his lieutenants. "Who would dare cross me? I had them right where I wanted them, incapacitated and ready for plucking. Who would be stupid enough to undo my hard work?"

"AGRA of course," CAM said, adjusting his spectacles once more.

"Y-yeah. That goodie-too-shoes of a witch," Moran piped in. "You know she's always meddling. It would be just like her to send that snow."

"That bitch of a witch," Moriarty growled and threw himself upon his throne. He glowered at the room, fingers tapping against his armrest as his Wicked brain racked itself with thought. "This nonsense has gone on for too long. The power of those shoes should be mine and no little girl, no witch, and certainly no metal failure of a man is going to stop me."

Moran brightened. "Ah, shall I summon the legions then, sire? I can have a company of monkeys in flight and ready to strike within the-"

"No," Moriarty growled and surged to his feet. Snapping his fingers a broom flashed into existence and he seized it as he strode towards the window. Cackling he mounted it, flashing a smirk over his shoulder. "No, this is going to require a personal touch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much a straight copy of the film for the most part. I did try to bring in The Wiz a bit more (which I wish I could bring in more of) with the poppies being a more direct reference to drugs, but your mileage may vary on whether that was a success or not. Again, characters are being told from Molly's perspective and I imagine she would blame Janine more than a little bit for not noticing as Sherlock went back to his drug habit which is referenced here with Oblivion.


End file.
